


Finally together, Birds of a Feather, part 1

by Hatsepsut



Series: Finally Together, Birds of a Feather [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fenbabies, Fluff, Huge amounts of fluff, Moving In Together, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:36:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 25
Words: 46,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3964630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatsepsut/pseuds/Hatsepsut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris and Hawke are together after three years, and their relationship evolves. Moving in together, falling even deeper in love, going through the paces that are life, having a family, while the world crashes around their ears.<br/>Smut, fluff (whole bucketfuls of it) and fenbabies.<br/>re-posted, edited, re-mastered and finally continued.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cake

**Author's Note:**

> This story was my first multi-chapter fic and by far my most popular. It is being re-posted here after multiple demands by old readers that had been following it on FF.  
> It always bugged me how many mistakes I had made while originally writing this story. For example, I messed up the timeline and kids that were supposed to have a few months of age difference ended up magically being apart by more than two years. Also, a certain amount of Mary-Sueness always bothered me, and I kept stalling re=posting this in hopes that I would one day re-work the whole thing.  
> On a serious note: this is the story that got my account on FF deleted. Someone reported me for having 'sexual relationships between minors'  
> So, to make things clear, I will just say this: Dragon Age has been based on a medieval setting world. In such a setting, a person was considered an adult the moment they hit puberty; the characters in this story become sexually active at around the age of 16, which in my country at least, is the legal age of concent. So, if you're living in a world where teenagers lose their virginity at 21, the door you just walked in through is right behind you, step right out. Because Heaven's forbid that teenagers might be sexually curious, and not chaste little angels. If sexual relationships between what in this universe is considered consentual adults bother you, and you think this is 'sexualising minors' then you shouldn't be reading this. to be on the safe side, I will add the 'underage sex' warning. But that's it. And if you don't like it, as I've said, the door is right there, Don't let it hit you on the way out.

He walked to her mansion, muttering all the way. Had the blasted woman no sense at all? She had been out helping that abomination all night after the many times he had warned her Anders was dangerous. To make matters worse, he had to learn it from Varric.

He walked in, not bothering to knock. Hellfire, he practically lived here now, although he still refused to move his things to her house. His need for his own private space was too great to overcome, even for her. But he should probably just move here if it meant keeping her safe. The blasted mage needed a keeper, not a lover.

Walking into the ante-room he met Orana who smiled warmly, if a little shyly to him, and pointed to the kitchen. He nodded his head in silent thanks and all but kicked the kitchen door open, burst into the room…and stopped dead in his tracks.

Hawke was cooking. In an apron. Barefoot.

She jumped as he entered and turned and smiled at him. Her cheeks were flashed from the oven and there was dough on the tip of her adorable nose.

“Fenris,” she gasped, his name crooned in that special note that always told him how happy she was to see him. “Come try this.”

She held a spoonful of cake batter out to him and he sighed as his anger left him. He could fight about Anders another time. When Hawke cooked or baked he was too much a happy camper to grouse about anything. And the minx knew it. She knew he would be angry and took out the big guns- her casseroles and cakes and pies. Maker…His stomach was growling already.

He approached her with a self deprecating little smirk and licked the batter from the spoon and her fingers, making her gasp.

“Any more?” he asked eyeing the bowl hungrily.

She dipped he fingers in the bowl and brought them up to his mouth. Holding her gaze steadily just to enjoy her pupils dilating, he licked every one of her fingers clean, before leaning in to kiss her, mixing the incredible sweetness of her mouth with the taste of the batter still on his tongue.

“I was furious with you on the way here, Hawke,” he whispered as he trailed feather light kisses along her jawline. “ You had better sweeten me up some more before I remember why.”

“I made a big cake,” she murmured as he was lifting her up onto the counter and pressing himself between her thighs to grind his hardness against her.

He actually purred with pleasure as he was nipping at her neck.

“It’s chocolate.”

His head snapped up and she nearly fell from the counter- he pulled away from her and whirled around the room trying to locate the cake so fast, that she felt as if she had been hit by a tornado.

“One of these days I will be offended by your liking my cake more than me,” she laughed.

Fenris raised his head from the huge piece of cake he had been groaning over, chocolate all over his face. He smiled, a precious, wide, happy smile that always broke her heart in its loveliness.

“I’ll just have to …demonstrate how much I like you, then” he drawled, trying for seductive, but failing miserably as his voice was muffled by the piece of cake he was wolfing down.

“Eat your cake, love.” She laughed, joyously, deliriously happy. “Later. You’ll show me later. I made cheery pie, too.”

He just groaned.


	2. Wine

 

“You drink too much,” she whined once again as she put away the empty bottles  littering the floor in his dilapidated mansion.

He rolled his eyes. Bad idea. It just made the pounding in his head worse. He groaned and put his head between his hands.

“There we go again,” he muttered in his baritone voice, a little hoarser this morning. “You nag like an old wife, Hawke.”

“I care about you, you idiot,” her voice was chilled. “But I can go if I’m bothering you. I have better things to do than hold a wino’s hand.”

“Go or don’t go, but please keep your voice down, I beg of you!”

She had a sad, hurt look on her face now. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself, love?”

She sat behind him and started gently massaging his aching temples. A small wisp of magic from her talented fingers and his headache disappeared, while his markings started tingling pleasantly.  “Don’t you know how worried I get?”

“ You went to that blighted ball last night, Hawke. What was I supposed to do? Keep your bed warm for you until you returned?” he asked her bitterly, still angry that she had accepted the invitation. And gone without him. In all fairness, thought, she had asked him to accompany her, but he had refused.

“You could have come with me, Fenris,” she noted gently, as if reading his mind.

“The Champion of Kirkwall accompanied by her elven lover, a penniless ex-slave living in a borrowed mansion?” he scoffed. “That would have made quite the impression on the nobility!”

“Stop this!” she smacked him upside the head, making him hiss. “I am not ashamed of you. I could never be ashamed of you. Don’t you know how much I love you?” Her hands went around his neck and she pressed her body to his. Her lips started tracing the outline of his ear, making him draw a deep breath of desire. He glanced at her over his shoulder, and was stunned to see tears running down her face. He quickly turned around and put his arms around her too, kissing the wet tracks on her cheeks, murmuring sweet nothings in her ear to console her.

“Hush, now, hush, don’t cry…” he crooned, laying gentle kisses all over her face. “I can’t stand it when you cry.”

“Then don’t make me cry, you sodding idiot,” she punched his shoulder. “And stop drinking so much!”

He stopped her tirade with a deep, hungry kiss. She moaned and went boneless in his arms, returning his kiss with mindless passion. After so many times together her body had become so attuned to his that a heated look or a simple kiss was enough to make her instantly hot for him, hot and wet and ready. And he knew it. There was no way she could hide the heavy surge of desire that made her respond to his touch. She moaned his name, her hands sliding underneath his tunic to the warm, hard muscles of chest.  His tongue curled against hers, and she made a sound deep in her throat, a sound of utter acceptance that pushed him past the fragile limit of his control.

He gripped her buttocks in his strong hands and lifted her up to carry to his bed, but she curled her legs around his waist and rubbed her hot center against his aching member that was straining the front of his britches- it was enough to make his knees buckle with a dark, surging wave of want, even over the layers of clothes that separated them. He tore at her clothes as they both came down on their knees and she tore at his, frustrated with the leather laces of his britches.

“Hurry,” she murmured, and then gasped as he ripped the smallclothes off her body, hands shaking with impatience and desire. He lifted her over him as he was kneeling on the floor and “ _ye_ s” she moaned as he lowered her on his shaft, “ _yes”_ he gasped as he felt her incredible heat and tightness around him, feeling so right, so at home inside her. They moved together fluently, like dancers in a familiar dance, holding each other’s gaze, moans and gasps and whispered pleas filling the silence of the huge empty mansion.

Pleasure built in bounds and leaps as they bodies writhed together on the gritty floor. Fenris hid his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent with gulping, panting breaths as his blood roared in his veins. The pleasure of her tight sheath fluttering around him as it accepted his thrusts was enough to shut every coherent thought down. There was nothing but instinct, the blind primal need for completion between them.

She went over the edge first, tightening around him and bringing him over too, screaming his name. She felt the scalding surge of his release inside her, his arms tightening around her and his hoarse voice whispering her name, not Hawke, but Marian, and wished fervently that this time his seed would take root inside her, that she would have the baby she was craving.

He nuzzled her throat dreamily in the aftermath, still holding her tightly in his arms, buried inside her, unwilling to let her go. She laughed, she was always ticklish after sex, and it brought a smile to his lips.

“How about…”she kissed him lazily, leisurely, completely at peace, “we go over to my place and I fix you some breakfast?”

“Pancakes?” he hopefully suggested, still nibbling her throat and making her giggle.

“Why not? You’ve earned them.”

“Syrup?”

“Of course.”

“Any cake left?”

“If you’re a good boy,” she smiled saucily up to him. “Or a really bad one.”

A wolfish grin answered her.

 “I can do that.”


	3. Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day to day living with Fenris can’t be easy, even if he is not typically living in Hawke’s mansion. I had this picture in my head of him leaving filthy footprints everywhere and wondered how Orana would respond. Here goes. LOL

Orana jumped like a frightened mouse as the door behind her banged and Fenris strolled inside. She had been busy scrubbing the floor all morning and so felt an uncommon surge of annoyance when the white-haired elf walked past her, nodding in greeting. His feet were filthy, and he was leaving muddy footprints on the tiles that she had so meticulously just polished.

She muttered a curse in Tevene and wrung her rag in the soapy water of her bucket.

Fenris froze in place and turned to look at her, amazed at this rare show of temper.

“You do realize I can understand Tevene, don’t you?” he nearly laughed, amused that the normally timid servant had just called him ‘a filthy pig’.

She blushed furiously and jumped to her feet, bowing her head and wringing her hands together, a terrified look on her face and started babbling how sorry she was.

“Please don’t tell Mistress Hawke, Master Fenris,” she implored, tears making her eyes shine.

Fenris flinched at the title. Hawke had been trying to break her of the habit of calling her ‘mistress’ for years, and she had taken to calling her ‘Lady Hawke’, but when she was upset she reverted to her old subordinate ways, acting like a slave instead of the free woman she now was. What was worst, she still called him ‘Master Fenris’, and kept out of his way as if she was afraid he would strike her at any minute.

“Orana, has nobody ever told you I was a slave once too?” he gently asked her. “You can call me Fenris.”

“ I would never dare, Serah,” she whispered. “ You are the Mistress’ consort and I have to show you respect.”

“But you are right,” a voice behind them drawled. “Sometimes he _is_ a dirty, filthy pig.”

They both turned to see Hawke leaning casually against the wall, a smile plastered on her face showing how much she was enjoying herself.

She casually walked to Orana and put her arm against the girl’s frail shoulders. Orana looked up at her, a look of pure adoration plastered on her face.

“Shame on you, Fenris,” she admonished, “not even bothering to wipe those grimy paws of yours before coming in and ruining the girl’s hard work.”

Fenris scowled for a minute before realising his lover wasn’t trying to insult him, but to make Orana feel more comfortable.

“You have my most humble apologies, Orana, “ he played along with a secretive smile curling his lips. “You can command whatever punishment you see fit.”

Orana looked at him, eyes as big as dinner plates. “No need for apologies, Serah Fenris, I will do it over,” she stuttered and tried to get down on her knees to get the mop.

Hawke had to drag her forcefully up again.

“You will do no such thing. Here, take this,” she put some coins in the girl’s hands, “and go buy that beautiful belt you were ogling the other day at the market. Fenris and I will finish your work.”

“Oh, no, mistress...I mean Lady Hawke …I will do it...” Orana panicked.

“Don’t worry, Orana, we have both done our share of dirty jobs in the past. We’ll be fine,” Hake said, gently shepherding the elven girl towards the door. Once it was closed behind her she turned and looked at Fenris with a slow spreading smile on her lips.

“You dirty pig…” she drawled, eyes twinkling.

“ Are you referring to my feet, or to last night?” he smiled back.

She grabbed the mop and went down on her knees to wipe his footprints off the floor, deliberately turning her luscious backside his way. She shot him a look over her shoulder and a knowing smile and wondered if she would manage to clean the floor before he pounced on her.

She saw him clench his fists, his green eyes darkening, while a growl started  vibrating his chest.

Probably not.


	4. Mornings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet. Fenris says the L word.

Some mornings were like birthdays. She woke next to him on those days, as he had chosen not to return to his mansion after their lovemaking. That happened more and more oftennlately and though he casually blamed it on the scrumptious breakfast she would prepare for him on those mornings, she knew, _just knew_ , it was more than that.

He never actually told her that he loved her, but he showed it in a million little ways. The way he needed her constantly, the way he wanted more of her with every time he'd had her. The way he smiled at her, open, wide smiles, all his old reserve forgotten. The way he went out of his way to do little things for her, like buy her favourite scented oil or polish her armour and even her staff.

She opened her eyes to the glorious morning sunshine streaming through the windows and smiled into his green eyes. She often woke like this to find him propped up on one elbow, staring at her intently, or him stroking her hair as she dozed. Most of the times he could only wait until her eyes were barely open before he mounted her and spend most of the morning making sweet, slow love to her.

What a wonderful way to wake up!

She stretched and yawned and then turned to face him. He was still looking at her, a tender indulgent smile on his face as she went though her morning ritual of shaking sleep off, yawning, stretching and grumbling under her breath. He brushed the hair out of her eyes and leaned in to give her the first kiss of the day, an achingly gentle brush of lips.

“Good morning love,” she sighed and was rewarded with a deeper, more intimate kiss.

“Good morning to you, too…love,” he answered, his voice hoarse from sleep, caressing her senses like silk.

She gasped. “ You said the L word!”  She put a cool hand on his forehead and pretended to check him for a fever. “ Are you alright? Who are you? What have you done to my Fenris?”

He laughed and rolled her over, settling between her thighs.

“ You witch!” he smiled. “You know I love you.”

 

 


	5. Moving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneaky Hawke trying to make Fenris move in with her, by using the oldest trick in the book: spoiling him rotten and catering to his every desire.

It was raining on the way back from the Wounded Coast and by the time they arrived at Hawke's mansion they were both drenched and miserable. She opened the door with a sigh and turned to Fenris with a questioning look. He spend most of his time at her house these days, but on some occasions he felt the need to retreat to his own space and he would spend the night in his rundown mansion.

"I would rather stay if I am not imposing," he replied as if reading her mind. "My roof is rather…leaky."

She gestured him inside. "My house is your house, too, Fenris, you know that," she quietly observed. "Or rather, it would be if you just agreed to move here."

"We have discussed this before, Hawke," he tensed, instantly on the defensive. His refusal to move in had become a subject of bitter disagreement between them recently. "I need my own space. I thought you understood."

"I understand, alright," she muttered with a sad smile, "I just don't have to like it."

He watched her retreat to her bedroom with an exasperated look on his face. He hated making her unhappy; the desire to always do whatever in his power to keep her smiling was almost a compulsion in him. He would willing slit his own throat if she requested it, but, _this_ , this was something he could not bring himself to do. It was more than needing his own space, it was pride, too. He could not bear the thought he would be _kept_ by her, that he had nothing other than himself to offer her. It was stupid male pride and he knew it, and she would be livid if he told her. But he could not bear hearing the whispers that would spread over the city like wildfire: that the Champion had shackled up with her penniless elven lover. Her _pet_.

He stalked to the great fireplace in the library and removed his armour with a sigh. He hated, _hated_ making her sad. It was almost enough to make him march over to his mansion, pack up his meager belongings and come back here to beg her to take him in like a stray dog- pride be damned.

He turned as he heard her descending the stairs, a bundle of clothes in her arms. He smiled at her, he couldn't help it, she looked so cute in her short velvet dress and robe. He dared not tell her though, as the word cute was guaranteed to push her buttons. He'd made that mistake before and he'd learned from it.

She approached him and with obvious relief he saw her sultry smile. Obviously, she had decided to drop the subject. _Good_ , he selfishly thought to himself as his blood began to heat, _the night is not completely ruined then_.

"Take off these wet clothes, love," she purred, "and warm yourself by the fire. I'll just go whip something up for dinner." She handed him a big fluffy towel and disappeared in the kitchen.

He took off all his clothes, grateful that it was the servants' day off, and wrapped his chilled body in the decadently soft towel. He sat next to the fire, a contended smile on his lips and probably dozed for a while, because when she walked in with a huge tray in her hands it was already dark and the fire was burning low in the fireplace.

His stomach growled at the sight of the food. Cold cuts and a beautiful green salad, fresh bread, ripe fruit accompanied with that soft whipped cream he absolutely drooled over, wine. She settled the tray on a low table and pulled her chair closer.

"No cake?" he asked with a fake frown on his face.

"As if cake can last more than a few hours in this house, you greedy pig," she ruffled his white hair with an indulgent smile. "Sometimes I wonder how you stay so slim will all that food you have been wolfing down."

"You mean the food you keep stuffing down my throat." He uncorked the bottle and handed her a glass, before piling his plate with food.

She shrugged and smiled, taking a big forkful of the salad. "What can I say? I like to keep _my man_ well fed."

"Mmmm, that sounded…pleasant." He leaned in to kiss her lightly. "Say it again."

"Later love," she promised, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "Now eat up like a good boy. You need the calories."

"Maker knows, you help me burn them often enough," he gave her a wicked half smile, his rich voice dropping a whole octave into an intimate tone that always made her swoon. "It is a wonder I have not lost weight, you minx."

"Complaining?"

"Perish the thought."

"Don't steal my lines!"

"Make me."

She dipped a strawberry in the cream and brought it to her lips, holding his gaze while she slowly twirled her tongue around the ripe fruit. His eyes instantly darkened and he audibly caught his breath. Blindly, he gulped down the last of his wine and beckoned to her with his finger.

She readily obeyed, sashaying to him and dropping on her knees in front of his chair. He leaned down to kiss her, but she pushed him back with a wicked, sinful smile.

"Relax, love," she whispered. "The night is still young. We wouldn't want you to…expend your hard won energy."

He smiled sheepishly and leaned back in the chair while her hands slipped under the towel to roam over the hard muscles of his chest and abdomen, living a trail of fire on his skin. His eyes fogged at the slightly dazed, appreciative look she gave his body as she pulled the towel away. The hunger in her eyes, the desire, was a like a stroke to his ego; he had always thought his appearance was odd, even intimidating. To have her look at him like a tasty treat she wanted to devour was a much needed boost to his male pride. His eyelids drooped- his eyes started burning like burnished emeralds in anticipation and desire as he awaited obediently for her next move. Smiling seductively, she dipped her finger in the whipped cream and dragged a line from one male nipple to the other, before bending down to clean him with her tongue. Fenris just gripped the chair’s armrests tighter, tipped his head back and surrendered.

He would never forget the image she presented, bending over him with a sensuous smile, as beautiful as a goddess in the flickering light of the fire while she reduced his mind to mush with well placed licks and kisses on every inch of his torso. She would dip her fingers in the cream every so often, spread it across his skin and then lap it up like a hungry kitten, making appreciative purring noises at the back of her throat. It took all he was not to throw her on the floor and ravage her, but he was enjoying himself too much to stop her. He made a mental note to reciprocate later. Maker, but she was driving him crazy!

She slipped even lower and took his member in her hands making him moan in ecstasy. One sure stroke upwards had him almost writhing on the chair. The pleasure of her talented fingers...Maker, it was pure bliss, the way she just knew how much to squeeze, how firmly to stroke him. His markings started glowing and she laughed; she knew it was a sure sign that he was about to lose control. Grinning like the cat that ate the canary, she touched just the tip of her tongue to the crown of his cock and tasted the salty drop that had escaped him.

"Mmmm…" she hummed, licking and kissing, "I do so _love_ cream…"

He groaned and his hands gripped the chair's armrests so hard that his fingers nearly popped through the upholstery. He started cursing in Tevene as her mouth closed over him, trying to take him whole but failing. His hands rose up as on their own and slipped into his hair, gripping and yanking, in a vain effort to distract himself and make this sweet torture last as much as possible. It was a losing battle- as her mouth moved over him, suckling with bold, firm movements, he growled her name to warn her that he was near his end. She just redoubled her efforts until she was rewarded with his essence flooding her mouth as he climaxed with a roar of ecstasy, his body bowing off the chair.  She just lapped up every single drop of his semen, smiling saucily, relishing the image of her stoic elf trembling and moaning in the aftermath.

He was still trying to catch his breath when she folded herself into his lap and lazily kissed him, sharing his taste with him.

"Now, tell me again, love," she whispered in his ear, "why _exactly_ is it that you don't want to live with me."

"For the life of me, I cannot remember," he closed his eyes and chuckled. " Acute stupidity, perhaps."

"Will you think about it?" she nipped the edge of an elegant ear making him shiver. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"Maker help me…" he sighed contentedly. "You will be the death of me."


	6. Betrayed?

The mansion was quiet. Fenris let himself in and took the time to wipe his feet, pointedly looking at Orana across the room, who blushed and looked away. She greeted him with a small nod and he responded in kind, before making his way to the library to wait for Hawke. She was supposed to have some business with Isabela, so he settled himself with a book and a nice glass of wine.

Soon he became hot and uncomfortable in his armour, so he unbuckled his chest piece and his pauldrons. He still felt uncomfortable in his rather sweaty tunic and tight leather leggings and then he remembered the change of clothes Hawke had presented him with a few days ago: a nice set of a cotton tunic and leggings. He had dismissed her gift at the time, saying the armour suited him better, but right now he longed for something softer and cooler to wear.

He made his way upstairs, carrying the bottle with him. Maybe he would change and wait for her in her room. They certainly seemed to be spending most of their time there anyway, he thought with the contended smile of a thoroughly well-pleased male. Sex with Hawke was amazing. No, it was more than amazing. It was so spectacular it bordered on a religious experience.

"Damn, Isabela, that's _hot_!"

"I won't be able to do it properly if you keep moving around," the busty pirate answered and Fenris nearly spit the wine he was drinking.

His step faltered and stopped. The next thing he heard was Hawke hissing in pain and his eyebrows shot up. What in the Fade was going on in there?

He inched nearer to the door and held his breath.

"Oh, your pussy looks so pretty, Hawke!"

Fenris gasped. Hawke and…Isabela? On their bed? He felt panic rising like bile at the back of his throat and then anger. Hawke was two-timing him? With that slut of a pirate of all people?

He felt the urge to storm into the room and rip that Rivaini whore's heart out. HOW DARE SHE TOUCH HIS HAWKE? How dare Hawke…oh, the pain that ripped through him was like a sword through the heart. His knees buckled and he put out a hand to support himself against the wall. He was a fool, a damned fool. Allowing himself to feel so deeply for her, giving her all his devotion, all the love he had left in his heart, all the tender feelings that hadn't been corroded by hate and bitterness. Fool! Idiot!

"Do you want to stop here, or go all the way?" Isabela was asking now and Hawke giggled.

"All the way, of course."

"It will hurt."

"It will be worth it."

He leaned against the wall for support and punished himself by listening to the giggles and the gasps that came from the room. Why? Hadn't he been enough for her? Had his lovemaking been inadequate in some way? He felt himself near tears and yet, yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate her. He was pathetic!

Suddenly he heard Hawke give a loud yelp and a pained hiss and his anger returned. Hawke may have betrayed him but that damned slut had no right hurting her. He burst through the door and gasped at the sight that greeted him.

Isabela was knelt in front of Hawke who was naked from the waist down. The whore was between Hawke's spread thighs and had her hand on her…on her private parts, while in her other hand she was holding a stick coated with…was that wax?

"Oh, Fenris, you scared me," Hawke chirped. "Isabela is giving me a wax, so go away."

"A..a…what?" he was beyond speechless.

"A wax." Isabela offered. "You, know, hair removal."

"Oh…Oh, I see. Carry on!" he turned to leave, mortified, relieved and aroused in equal measures.

"Wait a minute!" Isabela cried out. "I just got it! You thought we were doing the nasty! That's why you stormed in here like this! Ooh, Broody thought he was a cuckold! Wait until I tell Varric!"

"Shut up, slattern and finish up!" Fenris barked, too relieved to care and increasingly aroused at the thought of that baby soft skin and how much he would enjoy it later. He winked at Hawke, who blushed and smiled.

"Next time, tell me in advance, love," he addressed Hawke with that low intimate tone that excluded anyone else in the world and made her shiver.

"The wax won't work if you get her wet."

"You heard the man, Isabela," Hawke drawled, her eyes locked on her obviously aroused mate. "Shut up. Finish up. And get lost. I have a date." She blew Fenris a kiss as he retreated.

Isabela had a dreamy look on her eyes as she took in the picture those two made.

"Lucky, lucky you!"

"Ouch. Watch it."

"I would offer to kiss it better, but you have a better candidate for that."

"So true."


	7. Moods

Hawke had done everything in her power to make him happy, to give him the personal space he had abandoned for her sake. She had given him his own private room inside her house. His ‘den’ she had called it, because every wolf had to have one. For days she had been planning, calling carpenters and painters and seamstresses, roaming the market for just the right little accents, for just the right chair, or the right cushions, or the right freaking bookends.

He hadn't really cared, but male instinct told him it wouldn't be a good idea to tell her, so he had pretended to be interested. As far as he was concerned, once the decision had been made he could have slept in front of the fireplace with the mabari and would have been perfectly contended. Well... he would have preferred sharing her bed every night, of course. But still. Being near her was all that was important. The nearer, the better.

So, he had been rendered speechless when she presented him with his room. It was the most beautiful room he had seen: Comfortable, but not opulent, decorated with her immaculate taste but distinctly masculine. She had put a huge, ornate desk in the middle of the room, a huge library filled with an assortment of books carefully shosen to cater to his taste, an armor stand in the corner. There were soft, inviting lounging pillows near the fireplace, a card table at the far end ( _Donnic will love this_ he had thought) and a beautifully carved weapon stand to hold his swords. A sofa, perfect for snuggling into a thick blanket and reading. But no bed.

"Where do I sleep?" he had asked.

"With me of course," she had replied. "I've put in another wardrobe and a chest for your things and ordered a bigger bed. I look forward to waking up to you every morning."

So why was she being such a bitch now?

The day had started on the wrong foot and had gone downhill from there. He’d kissed her with intent in the morning- she accused him of being a sex-crazed letch. He went to the bathing chamber to wash - she accused him of using all the hot water. He petted her dog- she told him not to spoil the animal. He casually, very casually mind you, asked what was for breakfast -she gave him the look of doom and told him he could very well fix his own damned breakfast. He asked again and again what was wrong - he got a gruff _nothing_ as a reply.

Even he, with his limited relationship experience, knew that when a woman said _nothing_ was wrong, _something_ was very, very wrong _._

When -after the eleventh time he’d asked- she snapped at him, he lost his cool for a moment and snapped right back, only to see tears flood her eyes. What in the Fade was wrong with her?

Dread spread through his heart as he thought that she was probably regretting having him there, in her house. He should probably go see about lodgings at the Hanged Man, seeing as his mansion had been seized by the city and sold. He muttered an oath under his breath. He had just decided to move into her house, to fully integrate his life into hers, when apparently she had decided she didn't want him anymore. Maker, but he hated irony!

They had a job to do that morning, raiding the Wounded Coast for raiders again, no pun intended. She was unusually moody and her spells were more potent than usual, deadly effective and destructive. He watched in awe and secret apprehension as she burned a path of devastation among the raiders, an almost feral look of enjoyment on her face. His gentle Hawke looked more like a rapid wolf than even he could ever manage and he felt a sudden chill run down his spine.

"Alright, Broody," Varric angled near him on the way home, "time to spill the beans. What have you done to our lovely Hawke? Her feather are definitely ruffled this morning."

Fenris scowled. _Had he done something_? He examined every conversation, every exchange they’d had the previous days. Nothing. His mind came up blank.

"I haven’t the foggiest idea, dwarf," he grudgingly admitted. His eyes were hopeful as he turned to the rogue. "Have you?"

"You are the one living with her, Elf, not me."

"Maybe not for much longer" he muttered under his breath. "It is as if she has regretted having me."

"Perhaps I could be of assistance…?" Anders had obviously been observing their conversation with interest.

"There is no assistance you could render that I would wish, " Fenris immediately bristled. "Keep your distance, abomination!"

Anders smiled an unfriendly and secretly overjoyed smile. He was delighted to see the elf suffer. "Fine," he said, trying to hide his smirk and failing miserably. "Just a word of advice then. Keep out of her way for a day or two."

Varric's eyes lit up and he smiled. "Oh, that…" he muttered and chuckled under his breath. "Fenris, I don't envy you."

"What..?" Fenris stammered, a chill spreading down his spine. "What is it? What have I done?"

Varric and Anders both burst out laughing, drawing annoyed looks from Hawke that was walking up ahead a small distance with Merrill and Aveline. It was enough to quiet them down.

" _Vasta vaas_!" Fenris spat. "One of you had better explain or I will not be held responsible for what happens!"

Varric cleared his throat. "She is…how to put it? Entertaining the general."

A baffled look.

"You know…having a wet weekend."

A blank stare.

Varric tried again. "Flying the red flag?"

Fenris was beginning to glow.

"Suffering from domestic affliction? Getting a visit form Aunt Flo? Women's troubles? _That_ time of the month?"

"Oh...Oh, I see!" Fenris stuttered as realisation finally set in. He was relieved and mortified at the same time.

"Apparently, it can turn even the most mild-mannered women into complete and utter ogres."

"I can't say I blame them,” Fenris looked away, visibly awkward. “It must be uncomfortable to say the least."

Varric wished he had some way of capturing the way the elf looked. If they’d been in the dark the glowing red tips of his ears would have been enough to find their way.

Anders took pity on him. Even though the elf and he weren't the best of friends (the understatement of the whole freaking age) there was an unspoken pact of solidarity between all males in the face of irrational and moody menstruating women.

"Just try to be supportive for a few days,” he sagely offered. “Give her a massage or a back rub, or something to make her feel more comfortable. Hold her and rub her belly. If all else fails, get the hell out of her way."

Fenris shot the blond mage a surprised look. "You seem to know a lot about women in this…condition."

"I am a healer, you dolt," Anders replied, rolling his eyes. "Plus, I was unfortunate enough to be one of all but seven male apprentices among a horde of women at the Circle. And guess what? It gets even worse. Apparently, when women spend too much time together, they _synchronise_."

All three men cringed.

"I...appreciate the advice," Fenris reluctantly muttered to the mage. It was as close as a thank you Anders was ever going to get and they both knew it. "Is there no way to avoid these moods?"

Varric snickered. "Yes, but it only lasts for nine months."

"Nine months of even more moodiness," Anders added.

Fenris looked at them with a puzzled look for a moment before he realised what they were talking about and he blushed so deeply that even his hair looked pink. Then he got angry. He muttered a few curses in Tevene and stalked off, laughter coming up behind him.

He approached Hawke and put his arm around her waist. She looked up at him, a small smile on her lips. Fenris could see the tension lines around her mouth and the paleness of her skin now that he knew what he was looking for, as well as the way her hand lay across her belly as if she were in pain.

"Let's go home, love," he whispered as he lay a gentle kiss on her hair, "and I'll take care of you."

She looked at him in surprise. She thought he hadn't even noticed.

"There's not much you can do." She blushed.

"How about I rub your belly?"

"Mmm, sounds good."

"It's a deal then."

 


	8. Teasing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a copletely new chapter, one I have never posted before. I don't even remember why, i think because it was too short, but I could think of anything else to add to it without ruining it. I have always wanted to add more chapters to this story, but it wasn't until it was deleted that I finally got the chance to do it.  
> So...a silver lining, perhaps...

It was a blistering hot day, and as if trudging through the dust in the Wounded Coast wasn’t enough, Fenris had to deal with the nosiness and teasing of his comrades.

Varric was extremely especially today, making Fenris want to find a nice steep cliff to ‘accidentally’ push him off the edge.

“So, Broody,” the dwarf had a devilish twinkle in his eyes as he once again addressed Fenris, “give us some juicy details. I learnt Hawke ordered a new bed. Did you two thrash the old one?”

Fenris just growled and continued to look up ahead, not even acknowledging him.

“Heard this one had an iron railing on the headboard, too,” Varric continued, undeterred. “Handy.”

Fenris fought valiantly not to blush, as the dwarf’s words brought the memory of the previous night unbidden to his head, Hawke thrashing on the bed, her arms tied with silk scarves to the metal railing, as he feasted on her tender flesh, slacking a hunger that still surprised him in its intensity.

He was beginning to think that he would never tire of her; the more times he had her, the more ravenous for her he became. She turned around and winked at him, obviously thinking of the same thing, if her flushed, breathless look was any indication.

“If you ever need any chains and whips, sweet thing,” Isabela piped in, “just give me the word.”

Fenris sighed in frustration. “As if I’d let anything that has touched your skin near Hawke,” he spat through clenched teeth.

Isabela pursed her lips not to laugh, the jab flying right over her head.

“Unless she needs another wax, right?” she winked at Fenris. “I heard you enjoyed the fruits of my labour.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes at Hawke’s back, who shivered as if she could feel his displeasure, and turned her head over her shoulder to give him a sheepish look.

“Oh, ho, ho,” Varric laughed. “Do tell. So Broody here was...whistling in the dark, wasn’t he?”

Isabela winked at the dwarf. “Talking to the canoe driver.”

Varric winked back, totally ignoring Fenris, who had an even deeper frown by now, and was clenching his fists in impotent anger. “Yodelling in the canyon,” the dwarf shot back to Isabela, who just chuckled.

“Oh, that’s a good one,” she admitted. “Let me find another one.”

“I didn’t get it,” Merrill’s voice sounded confused from behind them, and Anders, who up to that point had been content just to watch and enjoy the elf’s embarrassment, leaned in to whisper something in her ear.

“Oh, OH, I get it!” Merrill hid her chuckle behind her hand. “Diving in the bushes!” she then giggled, adding her own contribution, which made Fenris turn to her with his eyes huge in surprise and indignation.

“Well, to be perfectly honest,” Aveline turned to Merrill with an eyebrow rising up, “she was waxed, so that can’t apply. Maybe...kneeling at the altar?”

Fenris slapped a hand on his face, losing the battle with his blush, and growling low in his throat in frustration.

Furious laughter erupted all around him, and he felt the urge to just unsheathe his sword and start hacking away, mortified and bitterly angry to be the target of their teasing. Suddenly, two hands cupped his face and he raised his eyes to Hawke’s loving ones.

“Don’t mind them, love,” she whispered, for the first time breaking their unspoken pact to be guarded and casual in front of their friends. Without even realizing it, his lips found hers, in a kiss that started out slow and languid but soon picked up in both heat and hunger, fed by his frustration.

She sighed in his mouth, stepping even closer, and his arms wrapped around her as if of their own, dragging her flush to his body. One of the low, lusty growls she loved so much escaped him, and his gauntleted hand fisted in her hair, angling her head so he could better drink from her mouth. He felt her shiver against him, then moan his name, before her eyes closed and she went lax in his arms, surrendering to him totally.

Nothing existed but her and the sweet, intoxicated taste of her kiss. Time stopped around them, the fact that they were being watched stopped mattering to him; his frustration and embarrassment were violently pushed to the side by a wave of want that rushed through his whole body, instantly hardening him. She mewled her pleasure under the pressure of his kiss, then one leg climbed up to rub against his thigh as she all but writhed against him, trying to get as close as possible.

A throat being cleared made them pull apart, but this time, Fenris wasn’t blushing. He had a smug, totally male look of arrogance painted on his face, as he turned towards his companions, Hawke hanging limply against him, trying to make her legs stop quaking.

Merrill was fanning her face. Aveline was redder than her hair, trying to look anywhere but them. Isabela was licking her lips and watching them with envy in her brown eyes. Anders was scowling and Varric was smiling, his whiskey-coloured eyes twinkling.

“A dip in the sea for everyone,” Varric said while looking around him, at the flushed faces of all his companions. “ I think after that display, we all need it.”

Fenris pulled Hawke even closer to his side, then gave them all a withering, scowling look.

But it was Hawke that perfectly summed up what he wanted to say, trying to find a way to make it clear that their intimacy was out of bounds, and never to become a topic of discussion again.

“Eat your hearts out,” she said. “And fuck the fuck off.”

Fenris smiled at her before grabbing her hand, and dragging her down to the beach.

 

 

 

 


	9. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another brand new chapter for this series!

“Venhedis! I swear I will kill you, you monster!”

Hawke slammed the door behind her, a puzzled look on her face. Her confusion turned to fear as she heard Fenris curse again, a stream of Tevene muffled by furious barking.

She rushed to the back yard, where the sound seemed to be coming from, readying a spell, a thousand thought a minute rushing through her head, chilling her right down to the bone: someone was attacking Fenris, here, in her home. A low growl by her mabari confirmed her worse fears, that perhaps Danarius’ death didn’t really mean Fenris would now be safe. Who could it be? Slavers? Some member of Danarius’ family, out for revenge? Another magister, that thought that he could get his hands on the famed lyrium warrior that perverted monster had created?

The abject terror that went through her nearly made her knees buckle. Maker, she had to help him! She had to...

The sight hat greeted her eyes as she opened the door was absurd enough, and so far removed of what she’d thought she would see, that it made her freeze in the spot, the beginnings of a firebolt still shimmering along her fingers.

Fenris was in the middle of the patio, knelt next to a huge copper tub. He was wet to the bone, soap and suds slathered all over his arms and chest, his white hair plastered to his skull.

And in the middle of the tub, her mabari was growling at him, barring its huge teeth, its hackles raised.

“Shut up,” Fenris flicked some soap towards the huge wardog. “You know it must be done. Your smell is beyond offensive.”

Another low, threatening growl.

“You can growl all you very well please, Hector,” Fenris reasonably offered, making Hawke slap a hand over her mouth to choke back the bubble of laughter that climbed to her mouth. “But you are getting bathed,” Fenris continued, completely oblivious to Hawke’s presence, “whether you like it or not. You might have frightened Orana away, but I am _not_ afraid of you.”

The dog lowered his head and growled even more menacingly. And Fenris just lowered his head too, and growled back.

The surprised and incredulous whine her dog let at that was what made Hawke finally lose it. She started guffawing with laughter, making both the elf and the dog tilt their head and look at her with a confused look.

“Oh, Maker...” Hawke snickered, valiantly trying to suppress her laughter. “If only Varric was here!”

Fenris’ lip curled upwards in a small self-deprecating smile.

“Your dog is being unreasonable,” he muttered. “Much like his mistress.”

Hawke was still snickering when she approached the tub, and leaned in to kiss Fenris softly on the lips.

“You just don’t know his buttons,” she offered, still laughing. “Hector,” she turned to the dog, “if you behave and let us bathe you, I’ll rub your belly for half an hour.”

The dog barked twice, wagging his stubby tail. Hawke frowned. “No, not a full hour. Half an hour.”

Hector turned his back, giving the best canine equivalent growl of ‘no way’.

“He’s a tough negotiator,” Hawke mumbled to Fenris who raised an eyebrow to her, a wide smile slowly spreading on his face.

“Half an hour of belly rubbing, and three big bones,” he supplied, to which the dog yipped and nodded his head.

He then licked Fenris face.

“I think that means you have yourself a deal,” Hawke said, then dipped her hands in the tub too. “Let me help you, and then,” she nudged him with her hip, “I think you should be bathed too.”

Fenris smiled.

“Let’s negotiate. I will require my own share of _petting_ and at least a few _treats_.”

Hawke turned to her dog and pouted. “This is all your fault.”

The dog just barked happily.

 

 


	10. Fights

Fenris opened the door to his den and stepped in wearily, tired and hot after a morning of practice with Aveline's guards. He had a job now, training the men four times a week, and was grateful to Aveline for suggesting it. The money wasn't much, but it gave him a fierce sense of pride not be to dependent on Hawke. She had smiled with an indulgent smile when he’d asked to take care of some domestic burden himself, blushing with pride and embarrassment at the same time.

So, now, he was responsible for paying the servants their monthly stipends. Hawke was hopeless with it anyway. She kept forgetting when it was time to pay them, or how much she was supposed to pay them. Poor Orana was too timid to remind her and they had discovered in shock that they were three months due in payments.

He sighed contentedly. Life was good. He had never imagined how good life would one day become when he had arrived at this city six years ago, a hunted and bitter man. He should probably have sent Anso a present for finding him Hawke all that time ago. Meeting her was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

His gaze narrowed in on his desk. Except for when she messed with his stuff.

Irritated, he approached his desk and saw his journal on the completely opposite side of where he had left it. He opened a drawer and looked inside and sure enough his belongings were not in the meticulously ordered way he had left them. Irritation turned to anger. What was the point of having private space if it wasn't private? The little wench had been through his things again!

And it wasn't just that which ruffled his feathers. She was messy. She was running poor Orana ragged with the way she just seemed to spread clutter on her way. She never put anything away once she used it, so she never remembered where things were and she would turn everything topsy turvy looking for them, just as the poor girl had tidied up. Fenris had found that he was a naturally ordered person, preferring to have a place for everything and everything in its place- perhaps it was a remnant from his days as a slave, but he wanted to believe it was not. This …messiness was driving him crazy.

He started putting things away, grumbling under his breath when he noticed that not only was his journal _not_ where he had left it, but that the lock was open as well. He blushed, paled and then fumed. She had read his journal!

"HAWKE!" he bellowed and tried to compose himself, taking deep breaths and counting to ten and then to twenty and onwards to a hundred as he heard rushed footsteps coming up the stairs.

She burst through the door, alarmed and out of breath.

"What is it?" she cried, worried, before noticing how tense he looked and how menacing his eyes were. He lifted up his journal in silent accusation and she squirmed uncomfortably, wringing her hands like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar.

"You have been through my things, again," he accused in deadly calm voice.

"I was just looking for some ink and…"

"How many times have we been over this, now, Hawke?" he asked, the volume of his voice rising with every word.

Hawke started to get angry. Well it wasn't her fault he was such a neat freak. As for reading his journal, well, she couldn't help herself. Why couldn't he hide it somewhere like she did? And the things he had written in it…It should be her screaming at him. A 'disorganized mess', was she now? This was her house!

"I wanted some ink. I'm sorry I made a mess, but I was in a hurry," she defended herself defiantly, her arms folding against her chest.

"If it wasn't for Orana, we would be living in filth and clutter like pigs!" he shouted, his hand on his hips.

"Well, excuuuse me, your Royal Highness! Isn't my house up to par with the standards of your recent regal abode?"

"I thought this was my house, too!" he shouted. "Obviously, it is not, so perhaps I should be packing, instead!"

"Well, perhaps you should," she shouted back.

They paused for a minute looking at each other with murder in their eyes before they both realised what they had just said. Hawke swallowed hard as his face lost its hard edge and a stricken look flashed in his eyes before he turned around and run a hand through his hair.

"Fine then…" he muttered, his voice ghostly thin, and his shoulders hunched. "I…I'll be gone by morning."

"Fenris…" she moved towards him, her heart breaking. She hadn't meant to tell him to go, she was just …oh, who was she kidding? She was wrong and he was right and she knew it. Her habit of spreading clutter around the house was something that had driven her mother crazy when she was younger, but she couldn't understand how Fenris- who had been living in a ruined mansion with old skeletons in the hall- had suddenly turned into this order-obsessed monster.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his back, but he stayed tense and unresponsive. "Please love," she whispered. "Talk to me. I know I am messy and disorganised but that never used to annoy you before."

He sighed and relaxed marginally, his hand coming to cover her own on his stomach.

"It is easy not to care about your surroundings when nothing is really yours, Hawke," he struggled to explain, his words coming hesitantly. "But this…my first true home…I want it to be perfect."

Her heart broke. It literally shattered to the floor. How could she have been so dense? How could she not have noticed the fierce pride he took in his new house? She had seen him wandering around the place, stroking the furniture, straightening the frames on the wall with that little smile on his face and had not realised, had not even considered, what a home like this meant to man who’d never had anything to call his own.

"It will be, love, I promise," she whispered, twining her fingers with his. "I hadn't realised, I'm sorry. I'll try to change, I promise."

"You need not change for me, Hawke," he muttered. "This is _your_ home, after all. I…overreacted."

"It is as much your home as it is mine, Fenris" she squeezed her body on his, putting real conviction in her voice.

"No, not really."

"I'd sign it over to you in a minute, if it means so much to you."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He turned around in her arms and held her to him, his arms coming up around her and squeezing her tight. She nestled her face in the crook of his neck and took a deep breath, inhaling his familiar scent, a mixture of leather, herbs and healthy male sweat.

"You will do no such thing," he brought his hands up and cupped her cheeks, looking deeply into her eyes. "I should have realised...you are my home, Hawke…The house is of no importance."

She closed the distance between their lips and he instantly responded, devouring her mouth in a searing kiss, tongues and lips and teeth clashing. Hawke moaned into his mouth and he drank the sound down, responding with his own growl as the urgency in both of them built.

"Stupid idea not to put a bed in here, too," she whispered in his ear as he trailed kisses, licks and nips across her jaw line and neck, suckling on his favourite spot where a nearly permanent bruise marked her as his and caused snickers and jibes among their companions.

"The desk will do just fine," he responded swiping his arm across the surface and bringing everything down with a clash. He lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the big oak desk before grasping the edge of the collar on her robes and pulling firmly; the buttons keeping it together gave with a pop and she was suddenly naked in front of him, as he parted the edges to reveal her pale flesh. He settled himself between her thighs with a deep, lusty growl vibrating his chest. The hard evidence of his desire rubbed against her soaked smallclothes and she moaned as lightning bolts of arousal shot through her body, heading straight to her loins. Fenris rubbed his thumbs insistently across her nipples and she leaned her neck back, surrendering the soft skin of her neck to his hungry mouth. Taking the offer without hesitation, her even warrior suckled and nipped at the tender skin, over her galloping pulse point, until she was certain he would draw blood.

His lips descended to her breasts and she keened his name in need as he gently pulled on her nipple with his teeth, then bit down until she hissed. He had a kinky streak in him that had started to emerge as he felt more and more confident in himself and his relationship with her, and more often than not she found herself walking the thin line between pleasure and pain under his expert guidance. She had wallowed in it and flourished. A gentle, ‘hearts and flowers’ kind of lover was definitely not what she wanted.

One long-fingered hand snuck down and ripped her smallclothes away; Fenris growled like a wild beast at the sight of her soft, hairless folds glistening with her desire and slipped his fingers in, spreading her own moisture over her throbbing flesh. She whimpered beneath his mouth as one long finger slid smoothly and deeply inside her, to be followed immediately by a second one, intimately stretching her. His thumb came to worry the nub at her centre and she writhed against him, impaled on his digits, her hips moving wildly against his hand. His mouth on her breast, his fingers wrecking chaos with her self-control, she was helpless against the sensations he created inside her. She felt herself hurtling over, spending herself with mindless cries and pleas while she heaved and quivered with the force of the contractions flowing through her.

He gave her no time to gather herself before his mouth devoured her, his tongue lapping up the evidence of her enjoyment, making her scream and nearly buckle off the desk. Her second orgasm hit her like a ton of bricks when he closed his lips around her aching nub and suckled her, drawing out her pleasure until her eyes rolled back and she nearly blacked out.

Dimly, while she still shook in the grip of her ecstasy, she felt him fumbling with the leather fastenings of his breaches and she reached to help him, her fingers delving into his smalls and lifting him free. She realised his hands were shaking wildly and looked up to see his eyes dilated to nearly all black, his lips drawn tight, a flush colouring his high cheekbones.

"Oh, Maker," he whispered, fumbling to release himself. "Hurry. Take me." With frantic motions he lifted her thighs to his shoulders, pulled her bottom to the edge of the desk and positioned himself at her opening, drawing a breath of shocked pleasure as he filled her with one violent, deep stroke. She keened his name as he started a pounding, bruising rhythm inside her. Her head thrashed on the table as one strong thrust gave way to the next; he was hitting a spot inside her that made her whole body vibrate with renewed pleasure. She thought the two orgasms he had already given her were the limit, but apparently her body had other ideas. As he continued pounding in her accepting depths- his every surge inside her accentuated by deep, primal moans- she felt her body tightening again, the tension hurling her up and over the edge once more. Fenris felt her contracting around him, milking his length, and with a series of desperate, deep groans he emptied himself inside her. His body slowly stilled and he leaned down to kiss her lazily, whispering her name, shattered by the strength and intensity of his climax.

She clutched his shoulders tightly and kissed him back, soothing him and herself with whispered promises and endearments, knowing that he would soon have to pull out of her and not wishing to let him go.

Fenris smiled his special, wide grin that he reserved only for her and she kissed the tip of his nose, happiness spreading in a wave inside her. She winked at him and he lifted a puzzled eyebrow.

"So, love," she drawled, a mischievous, impish smile spreading, "about those fantasies of yours that I read in your journal..."

He blushed and then his eyebrows furrowed over his eyes.

"Hawke, those were private..."

She smiled seductively.

"They don't have to be love," she smiled. "I'm more than willing."

He pulled back to look at her, surprised and excited. He started getting hard again just by thinking about it.

"Some of those thoughts...were rather..." he searched for a proper word.

"Kinky?" she provided.

"Well, yes." He couldn't believe what she was alluding to. "Are you sure?"

"Positive,” she smiled up at him, then winked. “Do your worst.”

 

 


	11. Cookies

She came across the Tevinter recipe book while she was browsing through old books at a flea market and the idea immediately sank its claws in her head and refused to let go. She bought the book at a ridiculously high price, not even noticing the gleeful smile on the vendor's face and returned home, trying to resist poring through the pages before she was there.

She had been examining ways to help him get his memories back, at first researching herself, then consulting the Circle and Orsino. The First Enchanter had asked to talk to Fenris and they had spend an uncomfortable hour in his office, where Fenris had done his best to control his distaste at being probed and questioned. In the end, Orsino had just shaken his head, mumbling something about more research, which Fenris sternly rejected. They had a mother of a row later, which ended as it usually did, her hurt and tearful, him apologizing and them both ending up naked on the floor, not even taking the time to make it to the bed in their haste.

A healer she had contacted at the Ferelden Circle of Magi had sent her a rather long, technical and perplexing letter, which basically said "I don't know what the heck is wrong with him or how to undo it but I don't want to look like an ignorant dolt, either,” as Anders had put it. However, there was a little paragraph in the letter that had caught her attention: memory was a funny thing, it said. It could be triggered by something insignificant, like a smell or a taste, while the most elaborate healing ritual could fail.

A smell. Or a taste. Hence the book.

She walked in and called his name before remembering it was one of the days that he trained the guards at the Keep. Aveline had been very impressed with him and most guards they met in the streets had a new-found respect for him in their eyes. Or maybe it was fear. She had laughed her socks off when Aveline described his first day, when the guards had made some derogatory remarks and looked down on him. Only Donnic, who had seen him fight, had kept back when he had challenged the guards to take him down if they could. "Twenty to one," Aveline had shaken her head, respect and awe heavy in her voice, "twenty to one and he didn't even break a sweat. That elf of your is really something else, Hawke."

But she had known all along.

She settled in the library and opened the book. Half an hour later she was frustrated enough to want to toss it to the flames. Sure enough, it was filled with a lot of what looked to be incredibly scrumptious recipes, heavy with spices and outlandish ingredients, but she doubted it was the kind of food they fed to slaves. No, this would not do. She needed something a Tevinter slave would cook for her children, something Fenris had probably eaten as a young boy named Leto.

She leafed through the book, disappointed. These recipes where all extremely complicated even for her who was an experienced cook, and would probably result in bringing up the worst kind of memories in Fenris, memories of servitude and anguish. Thanks, but no thanks. She loved his new, more open, more relaxed personality far too much to give him reason to brood. Even Varric had playfully grumbled about the added nuisance of having to find him a new nickname since 'Broody' no longer applied.

Just as she was ready to put the book aside as a total waste of money and time her eyes fell on a small subchapter about sweets that said the most popular sweet in Tevinter was one the slaves had invented, a kind of biscuit with honey and cinnamon. She quickly looked over the ingredients, noting that she had everything at hand. She rushed to the kitchen, book clutched on her chest, her eyes shining.

* * *

Fenris walked in tired and irritated. Aveline's guards were coming along nicely, increasing in expertise and confidence every day, to the point where he actually had to work hard to avoid their increasingly skillful attacks while they parried. Donnic had actually managed to nick him today. Fenris was amazed, annoyed and proud in equal measures.

He heard Hawke moving around in the kitchen and his mood lightened. She was cooking, bless the Maker. Maybe there would even be cake. Maybe that deliciously tender pot roast she had made the other day. Cherry or apple pie. Hmmm…whipped cream. Chocolate.

So he was a bit disappointed to see she had just made cookies, and nothing like the extravagant cookies she usually made, drenched in chocolate or with that mouth-watering vanilla filling. They were simple-looking oat cookies. He hid his disappointment though, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, stealing a cookie from the plate, and then settled down on the chair to watch her as she was cleaning up.

"So how was your day?" she asked while she was washing up, her back turned to him. She didn't get a reply so she turned to look at him. He was munching on a cookie (when had he stolen it?) with a thoughtful look on his face, taking small measured bites and chewing slowly.

"This reminds me of home," he mumbled absentmindedly, his eyes focused somewhere on the opposite wall. "My mother used to make them all the time."

"Fenris?.." she stuttered, amazed at what she’d just heard him say. He turned to her with a puzzled look on his face and looked at her, wondering vaguely what was wrong, why her eyes were as big a saucers and her hand was clutched on her heart. Suddenly, he realised what had just left his mouth and his eyebrows rose up to his hairline. He gasped and looked at the half eaten cookie in his hand like it could bite him.

Slowly, shaking all over, he left it on the plate in front of him, and tried to make his galloping heart calmn down. He just sat there, looking at it, vaguely wondering if she had secretly put some miracle cure for amnesia in it without telling him. Hawke rushed to him and put her arms around him, her heart giving a violent lurch at the way his whole body shook and trembled, the way his breath seemed to be coming out in choked gasps.

"Did I just remember something?" he asked, his voice suspiciously thin. "Hawke, tell me what you did."

"I just found this book with recipes from Tevinter and I thought it mind jog your memory to eat something that you did when you were a kid, oh, I'm babbling…" She took the plate. "Here, take another one."

He sighed and took another cookie with fingers that were wildly trembling. "Close your eyes." Hawke said and he readily obeyed. "Now, savour it. Smell it, taste it, tell me what it reminds you of…"

Her gentle voice in his ear soothed his nerves and made him feel safe. He followed her instructions, taking a good sniff of the cinnamon scent of the cookie in his hand and when the sweet honey taste filled his mouth he suddenly felt a flash in his mind and he saw himself, a young gangly boy, with scabby knees, a dark mop for hair and bright green eyes, jumping up and down impatiently while his mother took the cookies out to cool on a wire rack. He remembered his mother's face, her tender smile, the lines of worry and tiredness on her face, and her eyes, green like his, filled with love and pride.

He opened his eyes and he was back in the kitchen in Hawke's house, in their house, his love was in his arms and…he had a memory. He had a memory of himself as a little boy and a clear image of his mother. He waited for a few seconds, holding his breath- he was terrified it would fade away again. For a few horrible seconds he was certain he would forget again, but when that didn’t happen joy flooded his heart- joy and gratitude.

He squeezed Hawke even harder and buried his head in her hair, not wanting her to see his eyes fill with tears.

"You witch!" he said with a sob, "You beautiful, wonderful witch!"

In the end, she probably cried even more than he did.

 


	12. Top Dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Kenau, who gave me this prompt:  
> "Orana and Hawke want to do major spring cleaning up in the entire mansion, so Fenris found himself shoved off of the doors with Hector and strict order to make pretty long walk. Hours later Hawke is fanning herself with raising irritation, worriness and what-else, when reddened, panting Varric storms in and shouts: "Hawke, you have to see that!". They both run to Lowtown, picking up Aveline on the road to hit Hanged Man. And here is the view - Fenris and mabari in the middle of large crowd including all other Hawke's friends and usual patrons playing cards (Merril hold cards for the hound, pick the game of your choice, though) to sort out who will hold whom on a leash next time. From the blood and gore covering both pets from paws to fangs you can guess they have adventured a lot in the meantime (and maybe wrestled a little as they fought for dominance near every interestingly scented corner of the city)."
> 
> I was later asked to add some kink to it, something to do with a leash, but the muse demanded I keep this short and sweet. But...who knows what the future holds, because my muse is a capricious little bitch.

“Shoo. Come on, Fenris, shoo. Take Hector and...I don’t know. Go for a walk. A really, _really_ long walk.”

The white-haired elf gave Hawke a perplexed look.

“I do not see the reason for this. I was planning to spend the afternoon reading in the libr...”

“Abslutely not, Messere Fenris,” Orana appeared, her hair tucked into a wide scarf and carrying an armful of rags and brushes. “We’re spring cleaning.”

Fenris stared after the petit, usually timid elf, with an astonished expression. Hawke, standing in front of him with a similar scarf over her hair and buckets full of soapy water all around her, just raised an eyebrow.

“You heard the girl, Fenris,” she smiled.

“I could stay and help.”

Both women cringed. Orana gasped from inside the kitchen. “Men helping with spring cleaning,” the elven servant murmured, loudly enough for them both to hear. “Maker above. Men are as useless in spring cleanings as...as...” she paused, clearly looking for a fitting simile.

“Tits on a boar?” Hawke helpfully supplied.

“Exactly, mistress.”

Hawke sighed, then rolled up the sleeves of the old, ratty robe she was wearing, a remnant of her days in Lowtown, when robes used to be threadbare enough to be transparent before they were replaced. “Orana,” she drawled. “Don’t call me mistress, please.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Oh, she’s hopeless,” Hawke sighed, then focused on the elf before her once more, while at the same time she slipped a pair of thick leather gloves on her hands. She noticed his expression, brows furrowed over his expressive eyes, his lips tightened to a thin line. She sighed again, then leaned in to kiss his stubborn mouth.

“I’m not kicking you out, Fenris,” she murmured, her tone soft and cajoling. “But this place is going to descend into pure complete chaos in a few moments, and you’ll only be in the way.”

“Are you cleaning or battling a high dragon?” Fenris huffed, annoyed that his plans were being interrupted. He had been looking forward to relaxing in front of the fire, with a glass of good wine and a good book- and Hawke curled up in his lap.

“Battling a High Dragon is a walk  in the park. Spring cleaning isn’t,” she absentmindedly replied. “We have to scrub the floors, wash the windows, air the linen, wash the carpets...”

Fenris raised his hands in surrender. “Perish the thought I  meddle with all that, then. I’ll make myself scarce.”

“You have to take Hector along,” she reminded him. “He’s going to be in the way.”

“Absolutely, irrevocably, resolutely NO.”

 Hawke gave him a pleading look, complete with huge puppy eyes, a wobbly lip and a pout. He was powerless against it, and she knew it, damn her. He tried to strengthen his resolve, looking to his feet so as to avoid having his gut clench at that particular look that was pure manipulation.

“Your dog despises me ever since I demanded that he not sleep in the bedroom anymore,”  he reasonably offered, hoping to persuade her.

She huffed. “Can you blame him? He had been sleeping in my room –and often on my bed- ever since he was a puppy.”

“Hawke,” Fenris rumbled. “He was...interrupting.”

Hawke folded her arms against her chest. “He couldn’t help it.”

Fenris folded his arms as well, stubbornly immovable. A fight would be preferable to that tight feeling of dread that slashed through his stomach every time she was displeased. “Yes,” he insisted. “And because he could not help it, he was removed.”

“Dogs fart, Fenris,” she countered. “Sometimes while others are doing important things, like have sex.”

A choked snort from the kitchen made Fenris growl and look away, a small pink tinge painting his cheekbones. He lowered his voice, trying for one last time to persuade her. “He growls and snarls at me. I will not have it, Hawke.”

“A perfect chance for the two of you to patch things up, then,” she said, holding up Hector’s leash. “Have fun, now.”

Fenris just growled. Down the hall, the dog growled as well.

Oh, just marvelous. This would get...interesting.

* * *

Quite a few hours later, Hawke wiped the sweat off her brow, then sighed and looked at the little elf that was busy scrubbing the floor a few feet to the side.

“A break?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, Orana,” Hawke pouted. “We’ve been scrubbing for hours.”

“Absolutely not, Mistress,” Orana redoubled her efforts, making Hawke frown. Damn it, didn’t the girl ever get tired?

“You do realise how ridiculous it is, calling me mistress while you’re  bossing me around, don’t you?” she raised an eyebrow, but the petite, skinny elven girl just shrugged.

“Yes, Mistress, I do. Get back to work.”

Hawke huffed, then scrubbed a little more, but half-heartedly at best. There was a little something at the end of her consciousness, that was causing her stress and worry, as if there was something really important she had forgotten. Something she should definitely remember, that eluded her. She frowned, looking at the brush in her hand. Damn it. Whatever it was, it was important. That little nagging feeling kept getting stronger the more the sun lowered on the horizon.

“I wonder where Messere Fenris and Hector have gone,” Orana observed, and Hawke jumped about a foot in the air. “It’s been more than ten hours.”

“Oh, sweet Maker! _Fenris_!”

* * *

Orana  squeezed her hands together, fretting more and more as she watched her mistress pace up and down in front of the door.

“I am positive they are both fine, Mistress,” she offered, but her eyes were as worried as Hawke’s.

The mage just gave her a fleeting look, before resuming her pacing, sneaking hopeful looks at the door. Two more hours had passed, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for her to just stay here and wait. _A few more minutes_ , she told herself. _If they’re not back by sundown, I’m going after them_.

She had already put on her combat robes, and her staff was straddled to her back. She checked the time again, looking at the sun outside the window- only a small brilliantly slither of orange light remained of the sun, setting behind the mountains.

“Oh, screw that,” she muttered, then strode to the door. “Something has happened to them, I know. I’m out of here. They’ve been attacked by bandits, or Hector...”

The door burst inwards, startling both women; Hawke’s hand flew to the handle of her staff behind her back, before she realised that the man that had burst in, bent double with his panting, was Varric.

“Hawke,” he huffed. “You have...to...see this.”

“Varric!” She rushed to the dwarf, a million dark thoughts racing through her mind. Maker, for Varric, usually so unruffled and collected, to storm in here like this...it had to be bad. “Fenris is missing! He took Hector for a walk hours and hours ago. Please, do you know anything?” Her breath caught on a sudden wave of panic. “You do, don’t you? Is he...?”

The dwarf waved away her worry then chuckled merrily. “He’s at the Hanged Man. With Hector.” He then grabbed on to her hand and dragged her behind him, an unholy look of pure glee on his face. “You just _have_ to see this. You won’t believe me otherwise.”

* * *

She couldn’t remember how she got to the Hanged Man afterwards. Form Varric’s chuckles and giggles, and that look of amusement on his face, she had realised that Fenris was safe; but would she like what she’d see?

Probably not, if it caused Varric such glee.

She had been preparing herself for the worse; a million scenarios a minute were going through her mind about what she was going to find: a distraught Fenris, drinking away, after having been forced to kill her dog, which had assaulted her. The same scenario, but with Hector in Fenris’ place. Both her lover and her dog hurt and bleeding on the floor of the hanged Man.

But nothing could have prepared her for what it was that really greeted her eyes. After having to push through a throng of people, she just stood there, looking at that weird tableau in front of her, trying to comprehend what it really was she was seeing.

There, in the middle of the Hanged Man, down on the floor, Fenris was playing Diamondback...with Hector.

Truth be told, it was Merrill that was holding the dog’s cards, but it was the mabari playing. Just as Hawke stood there, dumbfounded, Varric snickering next to her, the petite elf turned to the huge panting dog with a look of bewilderment on her pretty face.

“Are you sure that’s the card you want? I know I’m not very good at this game, but it seems like a dumb move to make, unless of course  you’re bluff...oh! I see!”

The dog growled at her, then raise a huge paw to point to a card, and then barred its teeth to Fenris.

“I knew you were bluffing anyway,” Fenris drawled, his face impassive. “Every time you have a good hand, you wag that pathetic stump of a tail of yours.”

The dog huffed, then dropped low on his front legs, and wagged his tail.

“Woof. Woof.”

“My move,” Fenris contemplated the cards in his hands. “I am well aware.”

“Woof.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“Groooowlll.”

Hawke just planted her hand firmly in her face, with a resounding crack.

“Do you have any idea,” she started, the tone of her voice raising with every word until  the din of the patrons watching slowly died down, “how worried I was? DO YOU?”

At the face of the rage of a worried, furious woman, half the men observing the game scattered. She could have betted those were the married ones, who were well aware of that rising tone of anger in a woman’s voice meant.

Fenris barely raised his eyes from his hand. “Your dog and I have a dispute to settle.”

Hector whined at her, as an apology, then he nudged Merrill with a paw, and nodded to another card.

Hawke was curious enough- and dumbfounded enough, for her curiosity to override her anger.

“What dispute?” she choked out, her eyes huge.

“Who wears the leash next time.”

At that, Hawke lost it. Her anger bled and died, and she couldn’t help but disso;ve into relieved laughter, clutching at Varric that was hooting with laughter at her side. The mental image of Hector holding a leash in his teeth, taking Fenris for a walk, was just too much for her to take.    

Both Fenris and Hector tilted their heads to the side and observed her with a confused look on the faces, and that only made her lose it some more. Her ribs were hurting from the laughter and there were tears running down her face. She leaned even more on Varric, whose frame was also vibrating with laughter.

“A leash...” the dwarf managed to chortle  among his guffaws. “Who...gets...to wear...oh, Maker’s cuticles. _The mental images_.”

Fenris scowled at the dwarf, and Hector snarled at him, but paid him no more heed. Instead, he turned to Hawke. “Hector objected to being led around like a pup,” he explained to Hawke. “What was I to do?”

She was still snickering. “I don’t know,” she raised an ironic eyebrow. “Take _off_ the leash, perhaps? He would have followed you anyway.”

“Hm.” Fenris scowled. “I will admit it that it did not occur to me.”

Hector made an expression that was the closest canine equivalent to someone rolling their eyes, which made Hawke laugh even more. But he laughter was cut short, when the next move Fenris made –which was to nod to Hector to go on with the game- she clearly saw a dark bruise and blood marring the skin of his neck.

“What’s that?” she was immediately next to him, her hand threading through his hair, making him tilt his head to the side for her to inspect the slight injury. Now that she was nearer, she could see that neither her lover nor her dog were unscathed; bruises, scratches, nicks and bruises decorated them from head to toes. “What happened?”

Fenris tossed another card down, looking to the scratches on his arm  with disinterest. “That was your dog’s doing.”

“Hector!” Hawke scowled at the dog, which just got up and held his neck to the side, showing her another set of scratches. He then woofed towards Fenris and sat back down, his huge jaws opening wide in a yawn.

“Fenris!” she turned to the elf.

“He started it,” the warrior replied, pointing to the dog.

The dog growled at Fenris, then barked an explanation to Hawke. “Sometimes I think he forgets I don’t actually understand him,” she mumbled, then turned to the handsome elven warrior. “So, I think you’ll have to enlighten me.”

“No need,” Fenris said. “Hector and I have hashed our differences. Three will be no problems whatsoever between us.”

Hector woofed happily, then raised his paw to saw Hawke another scratch. “Fenris, again?” she asked the dog conversationally, but Fenris answered for him. “Tal-Vashoth,” he said, showing his own wound from that battle, a small nick on his leg. “And this,” he pointed top another lesion, on his stomach, “was from a raider’s arrow.”

 Hawke was dumbfounded, looking at them both with a stricken look. “You fought...Tal-Vashoth...and raiders...just the two of you.”

The mabari woofed and Fenris nodded. Merrill piped in from her spot next to the dog, where she had been quietly observing the scene. “That is not very clever,” she said. “Even I know that.”

“Not clever? It’s idiotic!” Hawke was beginning to get angry again. “You could have been killed!”

“You said, and I quote, “go for a walk. A really, really long, walk”. What was I supposed to do?”

“Walk  around the city, perhaps?”

“I tried that. Your dog made a fool of me,” Fenris pinned Hector with a withering look, and the dog had the good grace to look chastised. “He tried to hump a noble’s leg!”

“Hector!”

The huge dog whined and hid his head with a paw. “I daresay he was doing it on purpose, to embarrass me.” He focused on his hand another time, then threw a card down, a corner of his lips turning upwards in a mug little grin. “I win, Hector. Next time, you wear the leash, no complaints.”

The dog grumbled, but accepted his defeat with a small whine.

“Come on, boys,” Hawke rose to her feet. “Let’s go home. My dog and my wolf are both hurt and I have to take care of their booboos.” She leaned in to kiss Fenris’ cheek, and Varric actually awwwed and cooed at the tender smile that graced the warrior’s lips for just an instance. Hector growled, as always, to see his mistress bestow affection on another male, but Hawke turned to him with a strict look.

“Oh, hush, Hector!” she scolded the dog, who just bent his huge head and whined. “you had better get used to it, boy. He’s my man, and that,” she bent down to look the mabari in the eyes, “makes him top dog. Get it?”

* * *

Later that night, when all of Fenris’ bruises and scrapes had been carefully taken care of, cooed over, and properly kissed and petted, Hawke lay on her bed, almost purring in content. Her warrior had been especially affectionate tonight, perhaps making up for the worry he had caused her; she suspected though, that her heartfelt declaration to her dog in front of most of their companions and the whole of the Hanged Man patronage had something to do with it.

She sighed contentedly,  following him with her eyes as he moved around the room. A fond smile graced her lips; Fenris was practically incapable of relaxing and falling asleep amid clutter. He just had to gather up the clothes they had strewn around the room in their haste to get to the bed.

A small whine was heard from the door, followed by the sound of claws scraping against the wood. Fenris paused, then looked to Hawke, who just shrugged. The white-haired warrior moved to the door, taking her gesture as permission to deal with Hector on his own. He opened the door, and came face to face with a puppy-eyed, hopeful mabari, wagging his stubby tail.

Fenris regarded the dog with a scowl.

“Any malodorous emission and you are out.”

Hector woofed, and Fenris stepped aside to let the wardog into the room. Hector leapt on the bed with a huge bound, then settled on the bottom of the bed, watching Fenris out if the corner of his eye for his reaction.

Fenris sighed, then climbed on the  bed next to Hawke, who curled up in his arms.

“I thought you hated having the dog on the bed,” she mumbled.

“He’s alright,” he rumbled, “he can stay. Until the babies start coming.”

He closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep, unaware of the fact that the woman by his side had been shocked speechless- and near tears, happiness bursting inside her like a star.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Doubts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another brand new chapter that the muse demanded I write, excusive to AO3!  
> Enjoy!

The dank, dark warehouse was the last place in the world Fenris wanted to be in, on that particular day; his head was already pounding with a headache, and he had once again slept a fretful and restless sleep. His sword felt heavy and awkward on his back. He hated not being in top fighting form, especially when the enemy they were going up against were carta members.

He glanced to his left, to Hawke, walking by his side with her staff at the ready, and sighed heavily. Maker, these past few weeks had been difficult.  His issues were once again driving a wedge between them. The dark bruises under her eyes and the unusually grim line her mouth was set in spoke of nothing else.

Ever since she had managed to awaken one of his long-lost memories –and by means of cookies, if one could even fathom that- Fenris’ initial elation at having regained a piece of his past had soon turned to disappointment and aggravation. Memories came more and more often, out of the blue, but most of them disappeared as soon as they had arrived, making him want to howl with frustration. Some of them lingered- but as luck would have it, those were the ones  he wouldn’t wish on his worst memory. It was incredibly disturbing that he was not able to hold on to any kind of pleasant memory, losing them like sand shifting through his fingers; he’d remembered instances of his childhood, memories of his mother, only to have them flash out immediately afterwards, like lights blinking in the dark. And memories of torment and humiliation,  that he’d give anything to forget, those he managed to retain.

Fasta vas. It was beyond frustrating.

Hawke had tried being her usual cheerful, supportive self; she had stuck by him through his ranting, comforted him through his grief, tried her damnest not to judge, even when he’d retreated behind hastily erected walls, even when he’d left their shared house to brood on his own. She hadn’t said one harsh word when one night he’d awaken form a vivid, sickeningly realistic nightmare to the sight of her worried face hovering above his....and struck her in his panic.

She’d just laid there on the bed, her hand on a spreading, darkening bruise and tried to offer him comfort, tried to assure him that everything would turn out well. But he had been inconsolable; he had hit Hawke. He was mortified, even now, days later; he didn’t need to see the evidence of the bruise on her cheek, now long faded, to remember the fact that he’d raised his hand on her. Every time he so much as glanced at her his gut clenched with guilt and fear.

Maker, he was putting her well-being in danger by being near her. Were he a braver, less selfish man, he’d have moved out of her house that very night. He’d have removed the danger of his presence from the life of the woman he loved. He cursed himself under his breath, wearing in tevene, and she glanced at him, her face set in a worried, alarmed expression.

Fenris looked away, guilt, remorse, self-disappointment making his insides clench. If he there was any trace of decency left inside him, he’d stop putting the woman he loved through this nightmare. She could do so much better than him- a bitter, opinionated ex-slave, whose old life came back to haunt this one, the one they were trying to build together. He couldn’t keep Hawke safe from it, form his memories- from his own self.

Maker, he should walk away. He should break his own heart into a thousand pieces, rather than see her come to harm.

But he couldn’t. Maker help him, he couldn’t. There was nothing worse than the thought of living without her. Only the thought of living without her because he was the one to harm her.

So, last night, he had sat down and talked to her, and told her of his decision to end things between them, for her own safety. He’d expected her to be sad, heartbroken even, but her reaction had surprised even him. With fires raging in her eyes, Hawke had accused him of being a coward, accused him of deciding for her without her, and told him  that if he wanted to live the rest of his life in fear, she wouldn’t stop him.

The last words she’d told them before banging the door behind her were still reverberating in his ears.

“I love you, Fenris. But any little thing could kill me, tomorrow, or the week after. There are no assurances. I’d rather die by your hand, than live without you. But it’s your choice, as always.”

Tears had slipped down her cheeks. “I love you. But this time, I won’t wait.”

He looked at her now, at the dark circles under her eyes, her red, puffed eyes, and his heart ached to know she’d spent the rest of the night crying.

He was suddenly jerked out of his thoughts by Varric’s urgent shout.

“Damn it, Hawke, I said DON’T MOVE!”

But it was too late. They all clearly heard the click of a mechanism, hidden cogs sliding into place. It was unnaturally loud in the darkness of the warehouse, a sinister, foreboding sound.

Fenris sprang into action as if that little clicking sound was a lash on his flesh, his only thought that Hawke was in danger. He had only a split second to react; suddenly, time seemed to freeze, to slow down. He clearly saw her whirl around, alarmed by Varric’s shout, clearly had time to see her eyes widen in fear. The bolt that flew from a nook on the wall seemed to move as in slow motion, heading straight to her heart.

Fenris’ heart froze, his blood turned to ice. Without even thinking about it, he activated his markings and ghosted in front of her, materializing at the very last instance. Her huge eyes were inches from his, her breath was close enough to fan his face.

A sickening sound, of flesh rendering, of the dull thump a bolt made when it struck.

And then pain. Mind-numbing pain, and Hawke’s eyes filling with dread as she reached out to support him.

“Fenris! Oh, Maker! FENRIS!”

He looked down, incredulous, to see a bolt protruding from his chest.

 _Good_ , he had time to think. _Hawke is safe. Thank the Maker._

Then he blanked out.

 

* * *

“Don’t you dare leave me, you damned idiot of an elf,” Fenris heard a voice sob, and something slapped him lightly across the face. “You hear me, Fenris? Not like this. _Not like this._ ”

His eyelids felt as if they were being weighted down by lead. It took superhuman strength to manage to open them, just a crack. Hawke’s face, tears streaming down her face, her lip bitten between her teeth. He tried replying, but all he could do was grunt.

“Don’t speak,” her hand cupped his face, her fingers trembling. “I’ve sent Hector to fetch Anders.”

Every breath felt as if he was trying to breathe water; pain, heavy and burning, spread along his chest with every expanding move of his lungs.

“Damn it,” Isabela muttered. “Now is the time to do that fisting thing of yours, tiger, and get that bolt out.”

Hawke didn’t even seem to hear the pirate. Her eyes were focused only on Fenris, keeping his eyes captive with her own, swallowing down air at the same shallow pace as him, wincing along with him. “Focus on me,” she said, her voice panicky, when his eyes drifted closed again. “Listen to my voice, Fenris.”

His eyes slid open slowly again, and he found himself getting lost in her gaze, in her beloved eyes. He tried smiling to her, but it was feeble attempt and it only made her lips  wobble and more tears slide down her cheeks.

“Talk to him,” Varric hissed through gritted teeth by her side, where he was busy applying pressure to the wound. “We’re losing him, Hawke. Talk to him!”

Hawke leaned down, her eyes gaining a determined light, her lips thinning. “Do you hear me, Fenris?” she asked, slapping him lightly across the face again. “Focus on my voice. Anders will be here soon.”

“Fuck, Hawke,” Varric mumbled. “ _Talk to him_. Really _talk_ to him. Like we’re not even here. Keep him with us. Don’t tell the blighted elf about _Anders_ , for fuck’s sake.”

A hand, tremulous, clammy with fear, squeezed Fenris’, then a thumb lightly rubbed at the base of his, in a caress they often shared, when they were lying together on a sofa, reading from the same book.

“Sweety?” Her voice was soft, caramel sweet. “Fenris? Can you hear me? I love you, honey, please don’t leave me.”

His eyes slid open again and he drew in a shaky, shallow breath. “Good, my love,” she crooned, pushing the white bangs of his hair out of his eyes. “Stay with me, Fenris. There’s nothing worth living for if you’re not here.”

Isabela awwwed at the other side of Varric and the dwarf elbowed her in the ribs.

Fenris wanted to protest at her words to tell her that her life was worth so much, to so many, to him. But his mouth felt as if it was stuffed with cotton balls.

“Hawke...” a whispered, barely audible sigh of her name escaped him, and his hand squeezed around hers.

She was sobbing now, tears running down her face, without her even noticing them. “Please hold on,” she begged once more. “Please don’t leave me. Not again. You said you’d leave me for my own safety, why don’t you stay for it? I’d be dead if you weren’t here today, Fenris.”

Varric jolted at her side, then nodded curtly at Isabela that was ready to say something. “Not a word, Rivaini,” he mumbled. “We’ll get the details later.”

Just then they heard a woof and hurried footsteps.

“You damned mongrel of a dog, if you’ve been dragging me behind you for no reas...Oh.” Anders rounded the corner, Hector dragging him by his robes. His eyes went wide on his face for a moment, but then he went into full healer mode, rushing towards them with a healing spell already glowing blue around his fingers.

“What happened?” he asked, this lips thinned as he examined the bolt. Then raised one of Fenris’ wrists to take his pulse.

“He took a bolt for me,” Hawke explained, fully aware that she didn’t have the best of relationships with Anders after she’d refused his advances, and that he and Fenris were at best rivals. “Please, Anders.”   

The blond healer huffed. “Well, at least he did one thing right,” he said. “He kept you safe.”

Those were the last words Fenris heard before fainting...and surprisingly, they were exactly the ones he needed for the nagging sense of worry and fear and guilt to ease up. _He had kept Hawke safe._ _She was safe with him_. His hear gave one solid, determined thump as if to reassure him it wasn’t ready to give up on living. He drew in a deep breath, the agonizing pain on his chest suddenly easing up under Anders’ spells.

His gaze fixed on her face, the hopeful look in her eyes, were pain and agony still lingered, the silvery tracks that tears had left on her face. He wasn’t good enough for her, he could never deserve her...but he _could_ keep her safe, with his own life if needed.

He forgave himself for accidentally hitting her, and as the pain in his chest disappeared, so did his doubts.

There would be no leaving her. _Ever_.

 

* * *

 

Fenris jolted awake, going from sleep to perfectly alert within seconds; beside him, Hawke also raised her head and gave him and adorably sleepy look under the tangled mess of her hair.

“Nightmare?” she asked softly.

Ne nodded no, his dream still having a hold on him, still making his heart gallop.

She raised on one elbow. “What was it, honey?”

He looked at her, then his hand slipped into her hair, trying to  straighten out the dark tangle of her mussed up  hair with his fingers.

“I saw you,” he said. “Us. Children.”

She smiled cheekily, catching his hand in hers and turning her face to nuzzle his palm and then lightly kiss his elegant fingers. “Us as children or our children?”

He gave her a strict look.

“And was that so scary?” she laughed, carefully gauging his reactions.

“We had...a lot of them. That’s all I can remember.”

Her smiled widened even more, before her tongue came out to lick along his middle finger, making his eyes instantly droop into that suggestive, seductive look that could make her knees turn to overcooked noodles.

“Maybe we should get started on them, then,” she said, drawing his whole finger in her mouth and lightly caressing it with her tongue. His nostrils flared and he growled at her, making her instantly wet and hot for him, making her breath and heartbeat accelerate.

He pushed her back with a groan, then settled his lanky length in the welcoming vee of her legs, growling in his hoarse, velvety voice.

“You want one, then?” he asked, just before he bent his head to worry a nipple that was already begging for his attention in his mouth, sucking boldly, then licking around the tip.

“Oh, yes...” Hawke dreamily said. “A little boy, with your green eyes. Yes, please.”

He smiled a wolfish grin. “I can do that.”


	14. Swimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenau once again kickstarted my muse...something about swimming, something about a picnic and bam,  
> This is the result. Enjoy!

It wasn’t often that the whole group came together like this. An assortment of three rogues, two mages and three warriors, counting Donnic- who had a slightly confused look on his face- were gathered outside the Hanged Man, looking suspiciously at each other.

“Did you all get the same note?” Varric wiped his face with his silk handkerchief. It was blistering hot, just a few days before midsummer’s day, and Kirkwall was sweltering under temperatures that had risen to an all time high. Aveline, Donnic and Sebastian looked especially uncomfortable in their suits of armour, while Anders and Merrill had foregone their usual heavy, woollen robes and had opted to appear in everyday clothes, the blond healer in a set of haggard-looking britches and tunic and the petite Dalish elf in a short flowery dress.

And, well, alright, Isabela was always scantily dressed anyway.

They exchanged looks between them now, Isabela snickering at the look of Anders’ tunic-which seemed to be borrowed from a person three times his size. “What?” the blond healer said, looking down at his self. “It’s hot. And Hawke’s note said ‘dress lightly’”.

Varric sighed. “What’s with that, anyway?”

“You all got the same note?”  Aveline exchanged a look with her husband, then looked around her, a puzzled frown on her face. “Mine also said, ‘bring Donnic’”.

Isabela waved a piece of parchment in the air. “Bring drinks.”

Varric sighed again. “Brink a blanket.”

Merrill clapped her hands together. “She asked me to bring my lute!” she explained, turning around so everyone could see the instrument strapped to her back.

Anders and Sebastian exchanged a look with Varric, before Sebastian blushed. “Don’t bring your prayer book,” he mumbled, and the blond healer smiled sheepishly before adding, “Don’t bring your manifesto.”

Laughter erupted all around and just then, Hawke and Fenris rounded the corner, Hector woofing excitedly behind them. They were both holding heavy wicker baskets and everybody’s eyes widened to see them; Hawke had a short, cotton dress on, her gloriously long hair worn long and unbraided, and Fenris looked devastating –and awkward as hell- in a tight fitting pair of leather britches and a short-sleeved, light blue cotton tunic, which left his toned, tanned arms bare and his lyrium lines glistening in the sun.

Hawke paused and looked at them, a pout on her beautiful face.

“I said no armour,” she gave a disapproving look to the warriors and Sebastian. “That’s no way to dress for a picnic, people.”

“A what?” at least six voices spoke up at the same time.

“Oh!” Merrill clapped her hands in glee. “A picnic! What a lovely idea! Where are we going? The seaside? Oh, please tell me we’re going to the seaside!”

Varric gave a tight-lipped look to Fenris, one eyebrow rising.

“Don’t look at me,” the elf mumbled, then pointed at Hawke. “Her idea.”

* * *

“I have to admit,” Varric said, lying back on a blanket in the shade of a tree, the surf licking at his bare toes, “when you have a good idea, Hawke, you have a good idea.”

“But I have no time for a picnic,” she mimicked Varric’s voice, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “I have _things_ to do! I _hate_ the outdoors.”

“I stand corrected,” Varric sighed contentedly. “This is glorious.”

Hawke smiled, and turned her gaze to the sea, where Merrill and Isabela where laughing and splashing each other, up to their thighs in the cool, refreshing surf. Anders agreed from further off, his face stuffed with a piece of minced meat pie that he had stolen from inside of one of the baskets.

Fenris slapped Anders’ fingers as he swallowed down the piece he had been chewing on and reached for another one, and the mage gave him a miffed look. “Hey,” he mumbled. “Grey Warden. Huge appetite. I’m starving.”

“Hey,” Fenris replied, raising one eyebrow. “Ex-slave. Huge sword. I’m watching.”

Sebastian stepped out of the water, grabbing a towel from the stack Hawke had brought along, absent-mindedly wiping down his toned torso, oblivious to the fact that most pairs of female eyes were watching him in appreciation. Fenris growled, and Hawke looked away from the rippling muscles of Sebastian’s abdomen, blushing a little, while Donnic gave his wife a little shove and cleared his throat.

“What?” she protested, going as red as her hair. “No law against looking, is there?”

Sebastian smiled, then winked at Varric, who just hooted with laughter. “Oh, be still my pitter-pattering heart!” he snickered. “Choir boy isn’t as innocent as he looks.”

“I wasn’t always as priest,” Sebastian mumbled, suddenly having to swallow hard to get the lump in his throat down, as Isabela sauntered out of the sea, only in her small clothes, her tanned body glistening with droplets of water, and she trailed a teasing finger along the muscles of his back as she was going by.

“Ahem,” Sebastian said, then looked away, blushing furiously and rubbing his arms to make the goose-flesh that had been caused by the pirate queen’s light touch go down. “Nice weather.”

Isabela settled next to Hawke, lying down on her stomach, her mouth-watering ass in the air. It was the females’ turn to look daggers at their men, who titled their heads to the side, their eyes clearly appreciative of the pirate’s luscious curves. “Perfect weather for a dip in the sea,” Isabela answered, dragging a finger along Hawke’s bare thigh, smiling saucily at her. “So, sweet thing,” she drawled. “When are you and that lanky elf of yours going to show us what you have under those clothes?”

Hawke gave her a small indulgent smile. “I can’t swim,” she said. “Sorry to disappoint you, Bella.”

Fenris’ ears perked up. “Truly, you can’t?” he asked Hawke, amusement in his eyes.

“No,” she pouted. “Never learnt. My father once tried to teach me; he tossed me in the deep end of a small lake near our home. Needless to say...it didn’t go well.”

“What happened?” Anders asked, his fingers secretly creeping towards the lid of the basket, hoping that no one would catch him trying to steal another piece of pie.

“I froze the lake,” Hawke said. “I was about ten, and the first time I showed magic.”

“You froze the lake?” Fenris tried his best not to laugh, chortling back a small chuckle. “oh, Hawke!” He then brought his hand down hard on Anders’ fingers, making the blond healer yelp. “I can see you, you glutton,” he said, then turned to Hawke again. “You never tried again?”

“Well, the worst part,” she shrugged sheepishly, “was that I froze it over my head. My father had to break the ice to fish me out.”

“A good thing you didn't drown,” Aveline shook her head. “What did you father say?”

“Light a fire, Leandra. I caught a fish, but it’s frozen.”

Laughter once again erupted all around, and Hawke laughed along with them; but Fenris wasn’t fooled. He could see the small trace of apprehension and lingering fear in her eyes. Her childhood experience had been more traumatising than what her casual words let on, and his heart did a strange little flutter, thinking of a small, terrified Hawke, frozen stiff, clutching to a father that was most probably utterly mortified with fear but was cracking jokes to make his little girl feel better.

“Would you like to learn?” he softly asked her, and all laughter died out around them, as their gazes caught and locked in an intense, intimate stare. Varric was holding his breath, and even Isabela was looking at Hawke expectantly. Their companions could all tell, from the rigid, tensed lines of Fenris’ shoulders, the intensity in his eyes, what the real question was here.

_Do you trust me enough to teach you?_

Hawke searched deeply into his eyes, noticed the breathless, almost anxious way he anticipated her answer, and her face softened in an adoring, trustful expression, her eyes shining with love.

“Only if _you_ teach me,” she replied softly. “I’d be terrified otherwise.”

He nodded, deeply moved, then cleared his voice to make the lump building in his throat go down. “Then we’ll find a nice little spot for you to practise, a quiet cove perhaps.”

He then turned and glared at Anders. “And for your information, mage, I counted the portions in that basket.”

Anders faked an innocent look. “The pie is safe from me, I swear.”

“Humph,” Fenris snorted. “Donnic,” he turned to the guardsman. “Guard our lunch.”

He then got up, grabbed a couple of towels and held out his hand for Hawke, who smiled and placed her hand in his, trusting him so explicitly that it made him nearly want to bawl with happiness.

“If you’re not back in a couple of hours,” Varric shouted behind them as they left, “I’m sicking Isabela on you.”

* * *

Hawke sat on a flat rock, naked down to her smallclothes, and observed as Fenris pulled his tunic over his head. “Are you sure you want to teach me how to swim?” she stretched out her leg to rub a foot up his calf. “I can think of a score of more enjoyable things to do. Especially with such a yummy elf.”

He half-turned towards her, giving her a small grin.

“I take it that you like what you see, then, Hawke?”

She chuckled merrily. “I doubt your ego needs stroking, Fenris, but...yeah. I do. A lot.”

Her gaze turned dreamy as it trailed over his body, slim and lanky but packed with solid muscle. She already knew by experience that his lean elven frame hid more power than she could imagine, and that his appearance was deceptive: Fenris might not be bulky or have the wide shoulders and bulging musculature of human males, but what muscles he had rippling under his tan, olive-coloured skin were built to perfection, strong and supple. The lyrium lines swirling over his torso gleamed in the sun and as he bent to remove his britches, and her breath caught on a rush of want that took her breath away.

This was the first time she was seeing him like this, gloriously nude under the bright summer light, dark and light at the same time, magnificent in the sun like a tiger basking in the sunshine. She had to swallow a few times to get her throat to work again, and fanned her face, suddenly feeling more than hot and bothered.

He paused a few inches away from her, his face genuinely puzzled. “Hawke?” he asked her softly. “Are you well?”

She hummed then her eyes fell lower, appraising the view. Strong, tall legs, beautifully curved thighs and a mouth-watering piece of tight male ass. Slim hips, almost boyish, a bellybutton framed by lyrium lines. Parts of his body she had kissed and touched and fondled but had never really had the chance to fully appreciate. “Oh, my,” she dreamily said, licking her lips.

Fenris tilted his head, an eyebrow rising. “Surely, you have seen my form before.”

“Never like this,” she croaked, then fanned her face again, biting her lip between her teeth. “Maker, Fenris, you are magnificent.”

He looked down on himself, incredulous. “I am ordinary, barring my lyrium markings.” His eyes then softened on her love-stricken face. “You see me through the eyes of a woman in love,” he said, grinning, then shrugged. “There is nothing extraordinary about me.”

She pouted. “My love, you must be blind,” she lifted a hand to trail it down a pectoral watching in female appreciation his muscles twitch under his supple skin. “You are a wet dream come true.”

He blushed a little, then gave her his own appreciative, appraising look, his gaze heating. “It is you that are one, Hawke,” he said, his chocolate on gravel voice dropping to even lower, intimate octave, which made her sigh in longing.

“Come,” he told her, holding his hand out. “I think a drop in temperature is in order, otherwise I might take you up on your previous offer.”

She tensed up, looking at the water of the small, sheltered cove with anxiety. “Please do,”  she said.

“Don’t you trust me, Hawke?”

She blinked, then her anxiety evaporated like water in the sun. “With my life,” she simply answered, making him feel ten feet tall. Maker, the trust in her eyes, the blind acceptance, the unconditional love; it was both humbling and uplifting, making him feel like twice the man he really was and half the man she truly deserved at the same time.

They stepped into the water together, Hawke stepping on the small flat pebbles gingerly, grasping onto both his hands with trembling fingers. Her eyes started widening the deeper they went, and her breath started catching in blind panic. Fenris stepped closer, using his body to comfort her, and crooning to her in his deep, horse voice.

“Shhh. It is going to be alright, Hawke. I’ve got you.”

She lifted panicky eyes to his face. “If I freeze the cove, just...get out,” she not her lip.

“You will do no such thing,” he reassured her. “You are safe, Hawke.”

She huffed irritably. “I know,” she said, a little self-deprecating smile on her lips. “I know my fear is irrational. I know you won’t let anything happen to me.” She squeezed his hands even tighter. “But I’m still terrified.”

He smiled reassuringly, then stepped even closer, until their thighs could touch under the water. He wrapped one arm behind her back, then titled her backwards, slowly, whispering softly to her.

“The water will hold you up, Hawke,” he crooned to her. “Let yourself relax. I’m holding you.”

Once again the way she immediately relaxed at his words spoke volumes of how much faith this woman placed in him, how perfectly at ease she was with him, humbling Fenris even more. She floated along the surface of the water, his hand on her back supporting her, his voice whispering to her. For long minutes that seemed like hours, she was tense and stiff as a plank, but then slowly, marginally, her body started relaxing as she moved her clenched hands from her sides, swirling her fingers through the water, actually starting to enjoy the feeling of weightlessness and the cool, refreshing water.

“See?” he drawled. “Nothing to be afraid of, Hawke.”

She opened her eyes, a confused look furrowing her eyebrows, then a slightly puzzled expression crossed her face. “You...you’re right,” she closed her eyes again, relaxing even further. “This is nice.”

Fenris felt his mouth suddenly go dry at the way her pert breasts arched upwards, her nipples clearly visible through the wet fabric of her breastband. His gaze slipped lower, to the shadowy valley between her legs, where short black curls darkened her wet smalls. Her supple thighs glistened, white as alabaster, as she started getting even more comfortable and she attempted to treat water, and see if she could actually swim.

She opened her eyes to look at him, smiling brightly. “What now?” she asked, missing the obvious signs of his arousal.

He took a few steps back, then motioned to her. “Now you turn on your stomach, let the water support you, and try to come over here. Kick your legs and move your arms, and that’s it.”

Hawke again complied, laughing shakily. “Hold me, please?” she asked, her voice lost again in a small surge of fear. Fenris’ gut clenched; he didn't need to think to obey the instinct screaming inside him to protect her, to try his everything to take her fear away. Stepping closer, he helped her turn over in the water and slipped his hands underneath her, supporting her while she tested the waters- figuratively and literally. She relaxed again, then started kicking and splashing, trying her best to imitate the movements she had seen other swimmers perform a thousand times. Fenris resisted the urge to complain about the water being splashed in his face until he realised she had grown enough in confidence.

“I will remove my hands, now, Hawke,” he warned her. “Remember, should you panic, all you have to do is step down. It’s shallow enough for you here.”

She nodded, going stiff for just a second, and when she felt his hands ease away she splashed with almost desperate strength, her eyes wild and frightened. Fenris smiled a little crooked grin of pride and appreciation; she was terrified, but she was determined. She absolutely refused to put her feet down, even though he could see she was panting with the effort.

Perseverance, as they say, always pays. Soon, the frantic splashing became more measured, and she actually stopped floundering to realise there was nothing to fear; the water was holding her up, and it took much smaller movements than she’d thought to actually move in the water. And with that came the realisation that she was swimming.

She looked at him, confused and awed, standing a few feet away, then with a determined tightening of her lips she made a conscious effort to actually swim towards him and thought her technique was far from graceful she managed to cover the small distance between them easily. She laughed, delighted that she could finally do something she had been afraid of trying all her life. “I’m shocked it’s so easy,” she muttered. She then sent him a sultry, seductive smile. “You’re a good teacher, Fenris.”

His eyes hooded over, and his mouth turned up in a wicked, predatory smile.

He took a few more steps back, this time further away, then motioned to her with a nod. She just stood there, treading water, measuring the distance. “But it’s too deep there,” she complained. “I can barely touch the bottom here.”

He offered her a hand, then smiled invitingly. “Come to me, Hawke,” he crooned, and she moaned a little, then bit her lip, measuring the distance.

“It’s too far away,” she pouted.

“Come to me,” he insisted, his hand outstretched, “and I’ll reward you.”

 She splashed and floundered like a fish out of water, but she did it. When she finally reached him, she clutched onto his shoulders, suddenly panicking again at the sensation of not having solid ground under her feet, and Fenris treaded water for both of them, kicking with his strong thighs, and leading them both to more shallow waters, Hawke wrapped around him like a limpet.

Once they had reached the shore, Hawke grew more confident again, and she laughed. “What a ninny you must think I am,” she murmured, hiding her face in the crook of his neck, and wrapping her legs around his waist, allowing him to easily carry her out of the sea.

All it took was one lick against his throat, Hawke’s tongue chasing the salty droplets clinging to his skin, for Fenris to lose it. He growled, a sexy, totally male little sound, before dropping her to the beach, on the wet sand, where the surf met the beach. He grabbed one of the towels further off and hastily laid it down then motioned for her to lie on top of it. Caught in his heated, lustful gaze,  she just scooted over it, her breath beginning to pant, and then, in a gesture of total trust and acceptance as old as time itself, she let her thighs fall open, and slid a hand down her soaked smalls, moaning his name.

The image her lover presented, with the vivid blue of the sky as a backdrop for his masculine, exotic beauty, with the light bathing him, his body glistening from the sea, was something Hawke would never forget. Neither would she ever forget the way he looked at her, like a starved man offered a banquet, as if he wanted to gobble her up. Heat flooded her just at the look of pure, unadulterated longing in his eyes; but it wasn't just lust, it wasn't just desire. She could clearly see the way his lips curled into a small tender smile, a joyful light in his eyes as he joined his flesh to hers, as if he was exactly where he belonged, where he wanted to be.

She reached up, caressing his cheek with her palm, and he smiled at her, then moaned her name before moving inside her, long, unhurried strokes, languidly rocking inside her in the same rhythm as the waves were kissing the beach around their toes.

He stopped for just an instance, bending down to kiss her, tenderly, almost reverently, then he supported himself on his corded forearms and pushed deeper inside her, arching his body back, using the muscles in his back and thighs to drive himself as deeply inside her as he possibly could.

She moaned his name, her fingers not quite still, caressing every part of him she could reach; his shoulders, the elegant, strong column of his neck, the flat disks of his nipples. Her whole body arched off the sand, begging for more speed, more strength, more everything.  But Fenris didn’t want to hurry up; this here moment in time was perfect, bodies wet and glistening in the sun, the sound of the surf around them, the feeling of the sand beneath them, both soft and coarse at the same time. He didn't want this moment to end, because then he’d have to leave the welcoming, tight heat of her body, that felt so much like home. There was something quite profound for him in this joining- out in the open, in the bright sunshine, no hiding, nothing held back. This feeling of acceptance and belonging; it was achingly sweet, much more than he had ever hoped of, much more intense than he had ever thought himself capable of.

So he kept up his unhurried, languid pace, for once their lovemaking not being a mad, desperate rush to completion. Instead of letting go, this coupling felt like holding on –for once, maybe for the first time ever for him, this wasn’t his body commanding him, overriding his rational thought. He realised with a start, that though he loved her- he had no more qualms admitting it- while he had pledged his life to hers, there had been this little side of him that he had been carefully keeping back, carefully hidden. But here, now...Fenris felt the last of his barriers crumbling down, connected as he was to her hot, welcoming heat, to the place in her body that fit him as if she had been created just for him.

Freedom. This was freedom. Freedom to be himself because there wasn’t any part of himself she didn't love and accept.

He paused all movement to lean down and kiss her, pouring everything that he was, everything she made him feel –the love, the awed reverence, the want- into that achingly tender kiss.

“Hello,” she smiled up to him, instinctively understanding the  myriad of emotions swirling in his green eyes. Her arms wrapped around his back, her legs around his waist. “Welcome home, Fenris.”

His lip curled into a little grin; he was surprised she had so effortlessly understood how he felt- and not so surprised either. This was Hawke, after all. She knew him as if there was a part of her soul that had been created just for him. “Hello, Hawke,” he answered back, his voice almost breaking. He touched his forehead to hers, then sighed. “It’s good to be home.”

He thrust inside her at those words, cementing their wordless acceptance of each other with a  forceful, almost violent lunge, making her moan and a broken, awed gasp escape his own lips. Maker, this was perfection. This was heaven.

But suddenly, this unhurried, leisurely pace wasn’t enough, as his body demanded completion and her body started trembling underneath him, pleasure building and demanding more. He muttered a curse in Tevene, then tried to control the demands of his body, going still, his aching length throbbing deep inside of her.

“I wanted to hold on,” he moaned. “Venhedis. I wanted to go slow.”

She smiled impishly up to him, then rolled her hips in that way she had that always drove him crazy, clenching her internal muscles around him at the same time. “Slow is overrated,” she panted, dragging her lips down his corded neck.

He smiled down at her, a wide, unreserved smile that always made her heart stop ; it was so rare, and so beautiful. He smile turned wolfish, almost predatory, as he started moving again, but this time the pace he set was urgent, hammering inside her, making their bodies slap together and pleasure spread from her core to every single cell in her body.

“Yes,” she hissed, meeting his thrusts with her own upwards movements, a perfect dance of giving and taking, of invasion and surrender. “Yes,” he hissed back, his teeth clenched, his eyes rolling back with pleasure that was almost agony.

It didn't take them long; it never took them long. Their bodies were so attuned, that once one of them tumbled into a climax, the other instantly followed.  This time was not different; Hawke suddenly went stiff underneath him, then moaned, a prolonged, breathy sound of pleasure that somehow turned into his name, her body clenching around his shaft like a vice. And just like that, his own orgasm slammed into him, stealing his breath in its intensity, making even his heart stop momentarily. He shuddered above her, emptying inside her shuddering sheath, moaning in his hoarse, gravelly voice; and somehow, his moans turned into  her name as well.

Silence; only the surf, seagulls squawking overhead, and their panting breaths, as they struggled to relearn how to breath. She was the first one to move, sliding her fingers through his sweat-slicked hair, smiling up to the blue sky, totally happy.

“I love you, Fen,” she just said, her lips widening into a wide smile; on her chest, she could feel his own lips curling into a smile; it was amazing how often those came these days.

“Hm-hm.”

She laughed then, deliriously happy, her heart feeling huge and overflowing with love under his cheek. “Not very eloquent,” she teased, and he raised his head to look at her, his eyes for once unshaded by any past anguish, his mouth curled into a small grin.

“I believe some brain cells may have been damaged,” he kissed her lightly on the mouth before rolling off her. “If it is eloquence you desire, you will have to wait.”

She laughed, not really needing to hear the words; she could hear them in every smile, in every tender touch, in every heated glance.

“Come,” she jumped up. “I need another swim.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking at her quizzically, while desire once again started gnawing at his insides; her gloriously nude, curvy body, flushed with pleasure, slicked with sweat. His seed glistening between her legs, his fingermarks peppering her body; a bruise there, where he’d suckled in her skin a bit too hard.

She splashed some water towards him, breaking the lustful spell that had started coming over him. “Come on,” she giggled. “Sand in uncomfortable places, Fen. No more monkey business in the sand!”

He got up, gracefully as a big, exotic cat, and approached her, smiling like a predator. Her eyes fixed in his hardening length, and she licked suddenly dry lips.

“That can be corrected, my little Hawke,” he purred, making her knees go weak. His smile widened a bit, his head and shoulders dropping into that pose she loved so much, the one of a big, ravenous cat stalking its prey. “Now that you know how to swim, I suggest we take advantage of it.”

Her eyes widened and she looked around her, a startled look on her face. “What?” she croaked. “In the _water_? You can’t be serious!”

Another wolfish smile. “Oh,” he purred, “I am, my Hawke. I most definitely am.”

She shrieked and lunged away, running in the swallow water, splashing madly behind her. A throaty, delicious male laugh echoed behind her, as a hawk took flight, and a wolf gave chase.

Isabela, who had been sent by Varric to check up on them, grew still at the sound of it. She tilted her head to the side, listening to the sounds coming from behind the rocks: shrieks, laughter, then moans. She smiled indulgently, tenderly, and returned to the rest of the companions, whistling.

“Well?” Anders asked. “Did you find them? I’m famished.”

“Go head and eat, sweet thing,” Isabela settled down again, exchanging a knowing look with Varric. “I think they’ll take a while.”

“Should we leave them any food? They should be starving by now.” The blond healer quickly divided the food among the other members of the group, piling a double ration on his plate.

Isabela smiled up to the brilliant sun. “Oh, I think  they have that covered,” she said.

Merrill pouted. “They ate without us?” Then a minute later, her eyes got wide and she gasped, then giggled.

“Oh. I got it!”

“So did they, cupcake,” Isabela drawled. “So did they.”

 

 

 

 


	15. Comfort

 

 

Matrinalis had arrived, bringing a welcomed reprieve from the sweltering heat of the previous months, when heat wave after heat wave had scorched the City of Chains. Fenris raised his head, enjoying the slight breeze that was ruffling his hair. He ducked out of the way of busy people carrying firewood for the bonfires that night. It was a good thing that the wind had picked up a little, because when all those fires were lit, the smoke would have made the already unbearably dry and hot atmosphere worse.

All Soul’s was not a celebration he usually enjoyed- he had always been rather indifferent to it. It was supposed to be spent in sombre remembrance of the dead, but Fenris’ relationship with those deceased was either that he didn't remember them, or he had no wish to remember them. Dead people were usually the enemy to him; if someone his life had died, it was probably at the end of his sword; and because they deserved it. This year, however, he had been dreading the arrival of All Soul’s Day- but not for his sake.

 Hawke had usually spent this day locked away in her mansion, and he had  been able to ignore her pain, although he’d been acutely aware of it. It sounded selfish, but he could not bear seeing her miserable and he lacked the social skills needed to comfort someone that was grieving. He could still remember the awkward and uncomfortable silence when he’d shown up to try and support Hawke after she had lost her mother. He had been made acutely aware of how inadequate he had been. He’d only offered her empty words and the slight comfort of his presence, while she’d needed someone to hold her and tell her that it would all be alright. He had been mortified when she’d started crying; to this day, he was defenceless in the sight of the tears, not knowing what to do to stop them and aching inside him, feeling totally helpless to ease her suffering.

He made it to the Chantry, dodging out of the way of hurrying sisters that were rushing about to prepare for the processions, the plays and the all-night wake in honour of Andraste’s passing. He spotted Sebastian among the brothers that were bustling about, carrying candles and other provisions, and waited patiently until he’d caught the ex-price’s eye.

Sebastian muttered a few words to another Chantry brother, then made his way towards Fenris, grasping his forearm in a friendly, brotherly greeting.

“Fenris,” he greeted the elf with a slight smile. “Is something the matter?”

“Sebastian,” Fenris titled his head respectfully. “I do apologise. I realise you must be extremely busy.”

“Always time to be made for a friend,” Sebastian’s smile grew wider, although it was tinged around the edges with a little bit of worry. He raised an eyebrow in question and Fenris blushed a little and looked away.

“I need...some advice.”

Sebastian was visibly taken aback. “From me?” A wicked smile then lit his face, making his cerulean eyes twinkle, making Fenris think of the things he had admitted about his past, that he had been a complete rake. “If it is anything of sexual nature, you’d best ask Isabela.”

Fenris sighed and scowled. “Not you too,” he sighed.  “Enough with the teasing, already.”

Sebastian laughed heartily, then clapped Fenris on the back, in an easy show of affection that still bewildered the stoic elf. It was still new, this feeling, this easy acceptance as a friend; Donnic had been the first, and then Sebastian, and suddenly, Fenris the hunted ex-slave had found himself having _friends_. It was mind-boggling.

 _Him_ , having friends. Imagine that.

He waited for Sebastian to stop laughing then lowered his voice. “I need your advice, as I have just said. About Hawke...and how...to handle tonight.”

Sebastian sombred up, his eyes going sad. “Oh. I nearly forgot. Her mother...it’s the first All Souls’ without her.”

Fenris nodded, his jaw clenching. “Indeed.”

The tall ex-Prince rubbed his chin, clearly puzzled and somewhat worried. “I fail to see what you need my advice for.”

Fenris looked away, clearly uncomfortable. “Have you ever seen me offer someone sympathy,” he waved around, “of any kind?”

“No,” Sebastian’s eyes grew wider in understanding. “Oh. I see.”

He regarded Fenris for a few minutes, then sighed. “Do you want me to come talk to her?”

A wave of relief went through Fenris. “It would be appreciated, yes,” he said, dropping his eyes in shame. What kind of man was he, not being able to comfort his own lover at a difficult time in her life, depending on someone else’s help? Shame filled him, making his stomach drop. She had been there for him, every step of the way. And he couldn’t even hold her while she cried without freezing with painful discomfort.

“I might not be able to before sundown,” Sebastian added. “Certainly not before the wake begins.”

Fenris just nodded, choked up by shame and his own feelings of inadequacy. Sebastian’s hand reached out to lightly pat his shoulder and he raised his eyes to see compassion and affection in the other man’s eyes.

“Fenris,” Sebastian smiled. “Not all people are good with this. There’s no reason to feel bad.”

A curt nod was all he received from the elf, but for a moment...there had been gratitude in his eyes as well. Sebastian had clearly seen it, and it made him return to his duties with a lighter heart, firmly believing that he had done the Maker’s work in helping the usually gruff and broody elf.

“Hawke,” Fenris stood outside the door to the room that used to belong to Leandra. “Can I come in?”

“No,” she firmly replied, making something in Fenris’ chest tighten. “No, I don’t want you here. Please leave me alone.”

Fenris stepped back, his guts clenching with pain. He could clearly hear her sniffling in there, and it broke his heart that she didn’t desire his presence in her hour of grief; it felt like a dismissal, like a cruel verification of his worse fear: that he wasn’t good enough for her.

He made another effort, clenching his teeth so hard that he could swear he’d chip some of them any minute. They had come a long way, him and Hawke, overcoming most of the hurdles their –his- unusual circumstances had put in their way. He had learned to trust, which was a feat all of its own, especially considering she was a mage. She had learned to rely on him; which was another miracle, considering his little fiery mage was stubbornly independent and would rather die that appear to need anyone’s help, let alone his.

Fenris had learned it was alright to love, and she had put all reservations aside, showing him a feminine, soft side most people would have been surprised to see.

He knocked on the door again, gentling his voice to that intimate, hoarse whisper she was usually helpless to resist. “Marian,” he murmured her name. “Let me in, please.”

“No!” Her reply was choked by tears. “Maker  damn it, Fenris go away!”

Fenris’ heart sunk. She didn’t want him there. Maker, if she couldn’t share her grief and pain with him, what did this then mean for their budding relationship? How could he ever find the courage to continue opening up his own soul to her, letting the rage and bitterness of his past out like puss from a festering wound, if she wasn’t willing to do the same?

Fenris didn’t know much of relationships, but this he did know: they weren’t supposed to be about the good times only. A person that was invested in making a future with you should share everything with you, both the good times and the bad, the joy and the pain.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairway and turned around to see Sebastian; he quickly hid his eyes, lest the other man could see the signs of his grief and disappointment, but Sebastian was too shrewd. He tightened his lips as he went past him, patting his shoulder reassuringly, then knocked on the door himself and blithely turned the handle and stepped in.

“Hawke,” he said, firmly, his voice strict. “Why is Fenris standing in the hallway looking like you just kicked him in the family jewels?”

“I told him to go away,” she mumbled, sniffling. “I want to be alone. Please Sebastian.”

The archer sighed then from what Fenris could tell from the creaking of mattress springs that had not been used for months, he must have sat down on the bed.  Fenris jolted at the sob that escaped Hawke. “He looked near tears,” he calmly remarked. “Like, and pardon the expression, a kicked puppy.”

Fenris scowled at the ex-prince’s words, then gasped involuntarily at the distressed sob that escaped Hawke.

“Really? Oh, Sebastian, I didn’t mean to hurt him!   I just...don’t want him seeing me....this weak.”

 “Weak?” Sebastian chuckled. “Hawke, stop protecting him. He’s a grown man. And he feels as if you think he is not good enough to comfort you.”

Bothe Hawke and Fenris gasped, one inside the room, the other standing behind the half-opened door. One gasped because she had honestly not even though of that angle, of what her dismissal of her elf would make him think, and the other from surprise, because Sebastian had read and gauged his emotions so effortlessly, with just a glance.

“Maker,” Hawke sighed again. “It’s not that. I’m going to make him uncomfortable, crying, he can’t handle it. It frustrates him because he doesn’t’ know how to make it stop.”

Another surprised exhalation escaped Fenris. Hawke knew him even better than he knew himself. He felt shame once more, humbled in the evidence of her care; she knew he would feel uncomfortable and therefore had dismissed him, so as not to distress him.

She was protecting him, as Sebastian had said. In her grief, tonight of all nights, when the ghosts of all that she’d lost weighted so heavily on her soul, she still thought of him, how to spare his feelings, how not to offend his various sensibilities.

_The Void with it all._

All his misgivings faded away, melted like snow under the sun. Feelings of shame and inadequacy were violently shoved away by a surging wave of protectiveness, of the overwhelming need to just hold his Hawke tight, and show her that it didn’t matter if she was weak or strong, happy or sad, smiling or crying- as long as she was his, and she allowed him to stand by her side. Anger also rose- _little harebrained fool_. Trying to protect him, when she was in pain, when she was grieving! _Idiot!_

 He burst into the room, and just stood there, angry and determined, vulnerable and humbled at the same time. Sebastian took one look at him, one at Hawke, smiled, then folded his arms against his chest.

“You are  both such idiots,” he concluded. “You,” he pointed to Fenris, “keep thinking you’re not good enough for her, worrying that if she somehow finds you lacking in some respect, she will ask you to leave. And you keep forgetting how much this woman loves you, that she spent three years pining after you, loving you from afar.” He turned to Hawke. “And you. You keep walking on eggshells around him, afraid you’ll trigger one of his issues; and yes, we all know he has a lot of them, but he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t love you, Hawke. He’s not going to walk out on you. Ever again.” He turned to Fenris. “Are you?”

Fenris just nodded no, his voice lodged somewhere deep in his throat. Hawke’s eyes were fixed on his face, love and grief both shining through, her gaze caressing his face. He had to gulp to get his breath down.

So much love in those beautiful eyes, so much affection.

He didn’t pay Sebastian any notice as he went past him, and dropped to his knees next to Hawke; he couldn’t tell if it was him that pulled her into his arms or if she’d flown there on her own, throwing herself against him. All he knew if that the embrace between them felt like all wrongs in this world could be corrected, as if he’d found the one piece perfectly suited to fill the gaping hole in his heart. He’d loved her before, he’d known that, he’d always known. But at this moment the love that flooded his soul, as he held her while she cried, was more profound than anything he had come to label as love. His heart felt bruised with it, full to overfilling. And yet...he knew at that very instant, that he would love her even more the next day and the day after that. He realised at that moment; love never stopped growing. It didn’t have a limit.

He closed his eyes, and drew her tight into his body, then buried his face in her hair.

“Good,” A soft voice came from behind them, but they paid it no heed. “And a final piece of advice,” Sebastian added, his voice on the verge of a happy laugh. “This room...it would make a perfect nursery, Hawke. The dead belong with the dead and for the living...life goes on. Your mother would have loved to hear this room filled with a baby’s cry. After, of course, someone here decides to make an honest woman out of you.”

And with that he was gone, leaving the couple behind him still hugging on the floor.

Hawke lifted her face from his shoulder, sniffling. “He has a point,” she admitted, leaning in to lightly kiss Fenris.

“About me making an honest woman out of you?”

“No,” she blushed. “About the nursery.” She looked around her and frowned. “I have been keeping this room like it was the day my mother died and...it’s like a mausoleum. She deserves better.” She turned to Fenris and offered her a sweet, sad smile. “She deserves to see this room full of life, with the sounds of the grandchildren she so wanted.”

Fenris tensed. “You don’t wish for us to marry, then?”

She smacked his shoulder. “When did I ever say that? Of course I would.”

Fenris felt all his anxiety bleed out of him, belatedly realising how much her answer meant to him, how he had been secretly holding his breath. “Then, it’s settled,” he said. “We’ll ask Sebastian to arrange it and...”

“Oh, no, not so fast, Buster!” Hawke interrupted, her eyebrows furrowing over her eyes. “I want a real proposal, with a ring, and flowers, and the works. I want to be surprised and touched. I will not be telling my children one day that daddy proposed with a ‘it’s settled then’” she imitated his serious, almost emotionless tone and then rolled her eyes. “I want _romance_.”

Fenris smiled, settling more comfortably on the floor, her still curled in his arms. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll make sure I think of something, then.” He realised with a surprised little jolt that the thought should have been terrifying- he knew less about how to be romantic than he knew about being supportive- but then again...it was about time he learnt. A smile curled his lips. In the end, it was simple: if it made Hawke happy, he could learn how to change. If it made Hawke happy, it was bound to ensure his own happiness also.

She curled on his lap, hiding her head on his shoulder again, a sigh of content going through her.

“Have I told you about the time Carver and Bethany got the measles and I had to sleep with the mabari in the stable so as not to catch it myself?”

Fenris snorted despite his will. “I bet you caught flees,” he said, his voice soft. “Or ticks.”

She shivered then laughed. “No, but I did have lice once. My mother shaved my head.”

A laugh escaped him this time, and she smiled against his flesh. “Your memories of your family, Hawke....I realise they are bitter-sweet...but at least you have them. I have nothing.”

She pulled back to look at him, smiling into his eyes, love making her whole face radiant, her eyes soft and languid.

“That’s not true,” she said. “You have me. We’ll make new memories together. And one day, when we’re old and gray, we’ll look back and remember- _together_.” She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Do you remember the day when Sebastian called us  both idiots?” she made her voice frail and thin, like that of an old woman.

A slow smile spread on Fenris’ face, lovely in the happiness it showed.

“Something to look forward to, then,” he said, bending down to kiss her.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matrinalis / August 
> 
> Annum: Funalis: This holiday was once dedicated to the Old God of silence, Dumat. Since Dumat's rise during the First Blight, however, this fact has been largely ignored. Now the holiday is invariably known as All Soul's Day and is supposed to be spent in somber remembrance of the dead. In some northern lands, it is traditional for the population to dress as spirits and walk the streets in parade after midnight. The Chantry has co-opted this holiday to remember the death of Andraste, with fires that mark her burning appearing throughout the community. Plays depicting the tale of her death are also quite common.


	16. Feastday

Fenris sat at his desk, an indulgent half smile on his lips, watching Hawke pace in front of the fireplace and blabbering in obvious excitement. It was the Satinalia feastday in just a week and she was tinkled pink about it. It would be their first Satinalia together and secretly he had been looking forward to it, too. He had never celebrated the holiday, although in Tevinter the magisters competed with each other about who would throw the most opulent, extravagant party, who would buy and receive the most luxurious presents. It was all a game of politics and influence and it had sickened him. Here though, things were different. Hawke was already making plans to play servant to Orana and Bodahn on that day, something that no self-respecting magister would ever deign to do. She was trying to think of pranks they could pull on their friends and what each person's ideal present would be, not what would be most impressive or the most expensive, but the most coveted.

"What would you like for Satinalia, love?" she asked, plopping down on his lap. "Something practical," she gave him a kiss, "or something naughty?’

"Need you ask?"

"Naughty it is, then. What are you getting me?" she inquired, her lips trailing small kisses up his neck and along his jaw.

"As if I would tell you," he chuckled darkly.

"Oh, come now, love," she cajoled with a lovely little pout on her luscious lips. "Give me a hint at least."

"No."

"Can I do _anything_ to convince you?" she purred, nipping on the elegant tip of his ear. She whispered dark, raunchy things she wanted to do to him in his ear, before slipping her tongue in and making him shiver.

"Bedroom?" he proposed, his voice dark and husky, while claiming her mouth in a devouring kiss.

"By all means, love."

He got up, taking her with him at the same time, her legs wrapped around his waist like a vice, his arms coming to grip her behind as she ground herself against him. Orana smiled and blushed as they passed her on the hallway, lost in a kiss, too oblivious to even notice her. She heard the door bang on the bedroom upstairs and a throaty laugh, followed by gasps and moans. She blushed furiously and fanned her face. Her mistress had surely been blessed by Andraste herself when she took the white haired elf as a mate. There'd be pitter-patter of half-elven little feet in this house in no time at all, if she was any judge of things, she thought, happy for her employers, as she made her way to the kitchen.

* * *

Satinalia arrived and Hawke was up and running since early dawn. She surprised Orana, Bodahn and Sandal by taking them breakfast in bed, and then helped a blushing, stuttering, but secretly charmed Orana to dress. She deflected all her protests by a simple “it is the custom, dear,” and run to make Fenris his favourite pancakes, which she then proceeded to serve him in bed. She run a little back in her schedule there, as the wicked, _wicked_ man had other plans with the syrup than to spread it on the pancakes, but she figured she could squeeze him in. And she did. Repeatedly. She nearly ran down the stairs naked when she realised how much time she had wasted and Fenris couldn’t help but laugh out loud at her mortification. Chuckling quietly while she fumed, he helped her get dressed and then surprised her by joining her in the kitchen where he assisted her with the preparations.

Between them they managed to cook up an enormous quantity of food and by noon they were both exhausted but giddy as schoolchildren. A flour fight had erupted somewhere down the line and they were both covered in white powder, sweaty and hungry. Orana and Bodahn had stepped up to their part in the celebration, calling to them with outrageous demands every few minutes, and even Fenris who had a very understandable aversion to waiting on any person other than Hawke was soon swept into the whole ridiculousness of it all, inwardly pleased to see their servants put them through their paces, Orana especially giggling and blushing every time he took a bow and muttered “at your service, my lady”.

They took a bath together which soon grew quite steamy, making a horrible mess of the bathing room, water sloshing and splashing everywhere. By the time they were both dried and dressed, it was time for the guests to arrive and they went down to the hall to wait together. Hawke anxiously arranged and rearranged the silverware on the table and the gifts piled in the corner, while Fenris tried in vain to find out what his present was, covertly eyeing each box wrapped in brightly-coloured paper.

Sebastian arrived first, but bearing the unfortunate news that Aveline and Donnic had been detained at the Keep. Hawke tried to hide her disappointment and served Sebastian his wine before going to answer the door. It was a street urchin with a message from Varric, saying that he and Isabela had been caught in the middle of a bar brawl in the Hanged Man and were nursing stab wounds and bruises. They would regretfully be unable to attend. Anders had already declined her invitation the previous day and Merrill...well, Merrill would probably get lost on the way.

She couldn't remember ever being so disappointed in her life. She looked at Fenris, her lips almost trembling, her eyes a bit shinier than usual. He took her in his arms to comfort her, while Sebastian blushed and turned respectfully away.

"Nobody is coming, Fenris..." she whispered against his neck, disappointment making her voice shaky. "We went into all this trouble for nothing..."

"Well, at least I can give you my present in relative privacy," he muttered and presented her with a little square box.

He looked at him in surprise, noting that there was a blush colouring his high cheekbones and that his hands were not quite steady. She quickly opened the box and just stood staring at the beautiful ring inside, yellow stones set into a beautiful Dalish silver ring.

"Does...does this mean what I _think_ it does?" she stammered, tears escaping her eyes and running down her cheeks in silver rivulets.

"If you will have me," he simply replied with a graceful nod, his voice gentle and hopeful; his moss-green eyes were luminous, shining with love; a small expectant smile was curling his full lips.

She just nodded her head up and down, a bright, sunny smile lighting up her face; she couldn’t speak anyway, as happiness and shock had choked her up. Fenris let out the breath he had been holding in a relieved sigh and motioned to Sebastian who was watching them with an wide grin. Hawke was too stunned to realise what was happening. Before she knew it, she found herself facing Fenris, their hands clasped together, while Sebastian recited the simple and profound words of the marriage ceremony in his deep burr.

She suddenly heard cheers coming from the hall leading to the cellar, and the door burst open, all her friends rushing into the room, offering congratulations and wishes and hugging and kissing her and in a daze she thought _I am married_. She rolled the idea in her mind and started laughing and crying, realising it was all planed by _her husband_ , Maker, the sound of it was so _right_ , so _perfect_ and he was suddenly kissing her within an inch of her life, while their friends stood around whistling and catcalling.

"Happy?" he asked her in a low intimate voice, cupping her face and looking into her eyes, a smug look on his face.

She still couldn't find her voice to speak- she just smiled- a radiant, love-struck smile, before attacking him and kissing him herself. The kiss went on for what seemed like hours and Isabela laughed and nudged Varric who was beaming like a proud brother.

"Want to bet on the sex of their first baby?" she asked the dwarf with a wink.

"Ah, Rivaini, you wound me," he put his hand over his heart. "When I have ever turned down a good bet?"

 

* * *

 

The rest of the feast was a blur as they drunk and ate and danced the night away. They gave their friends their gifts and Hawke was delighted that they were all greeted with _ooohhhs_ and _aaahhs_ and proper enthusiasm. She gasped when she opened Isabela's present, a box of assorted sex toys that made her blush to the root of her hair and Fenris chuckle and bow to Isabela in silent thanks. Varric had brought them a collection of books, most of them with her as the protagonist, and they both rolled their eyes at the outlandish titles. Sebastian gave them both beautiful leather bound prayer books and commented that they would probably need them, eyeing the box Isabela had given them with a wicked grin. Anders' gift was a surprise as it was mostly addressed to Fenris, a book called 'How to properly please a mage' to which Fenris responded that he knew how very well, thank you very much, with a frown and a growl.

Merrill timidly gave them a homemade quilt made from Halla hair, sinfully soft and incredibly beautiful, and Aveline and Donnic gave them a painting with a white wolf howling at the moon while a hawk circled above it. It was so beautiful that it brought fresh tears to Hawke’s eyes and Fenris commended it was going over the mantle, first thing in the morning.

Their friends left one by one, Varric and Isabela singing a bawdy dwarven drinking song while they headed to the Hanged Man to continue their celebration, while Anders offered to take Merrill home so she wouldn't get lost. Sebastian, Aveline and Donnic all left together, as they were headed for the same part of town - and Hawke and Fenris were finally alone, except for their servants who respectfully stepped forward to offer them their wishes and their presents.

Fenris gave her a kiss and left her to give their presents to Orana and Bodahn and Sandal. He murmured that he was going to head up to their bedroom, then pointedly took Isabela's box under his arm and gave her a suggestive, scorching look before making his way upstairs.

"Do not be long, _wife_ ," he growled, the new word rolling off his tongue with obvious enjoyment. "I have another present for you," at which she responded with an arched eyebrow and a lustful smile.

She finished up as soon as possible, going through the whole present giving with barely veiled impatience, her mind straying to the handsome elf, _her husband_ , waiting for her upstairs. She nearly ran up the stairs as soon as the servants had retired for the night and opened the door to their bedroom with bated breath.

He was lying naked on the bed, the light from the fire illuminating his bronze skin and the silvery lyrium lines on his skin. He had shackled himself to the bedposts using a pair of Isabela's manacles, the tension making his chest muscles and his biceps stand out ... and wait, wait, _wait_...Was that a silk bow tied on his..oh, my!

She fanned herself with one hand, feeling hotter than she’d ever had in her life, her blood shimmering in her veins. He gave her a sinful smile and motioned to her to come closer with a come-hither look in his smouldering green eyes.

"Not so fast, love," she replied, " I like taking my time to ...unwrap my presents," she responded and continued on to take off her clothes in a measured, agonizingly  pace, revealing every creamy inch of skin as slowly as her own excitement permitted her.

When she was completely naked she glided towards the bed sinuously, and trailed a finger from his biceps down to the muscles of his calf, making appreciative humming noises at the same time. He tried not to twitch at her touch as she went round the bed, her finger still trailing over him, now up his other leg, over his groin and his torso, until it reached the full curve of his lips. He sucked her finger in his mouth and licked around it making her purr, silently inviting her to touch him.

Hawke leaned over him, her lips twinning with his in a sweet, chaste kiss, the tips of her breasts grazing over his chest and making him arch into her for more contact. She immediately pulled away, putting some distance between them again before that wicked finger of hers started tracing the lyrium lines on his body, leaving a trail of glowing blue behind it as the markings sang at her touch.

He started straining against his self-imposed restraints, trying to capture her mouth, trying to deepen the connection between them, but she moved back with a chuckle.

"Hawke..." he impatiently chided her, and she responded with a heated kiss.

"I want to hear you beg, tonight, husband," she murmured against his neck, her tongue trailing the graceful curve of his throat, his head falling back in surrender. "I still owe you for that prank. Making me think nobody was coming to my party, shame on you... Bad, bad elf!"

"I am already ready to beg, Hawke," he murmured. "And when I tied the bow, I wasn't so...excited. It is beginning to get rather uncomfortable."

She laughed and moved down his body where his aching member was straining against the silk bow. She took one end of the ribbon in her teeth and pulled, the bow coming undone and Fenris leaving a relieved sigh that made her giggle again.

"Was it too tight, love?" she asked, smiling up at him. "Shall I kiss it and make it better?"

"Please do," he gave the chains a tug, as if he wanted to grab her and force her to hurry up.

"Not, so fast love," she gave his shaft a small playful lick, making him jerk and twist. "You have to beg, remember?"

He groaned out loud when she gave him another little lick, followed by an open-mouthed kiss and a tug. This was torture. Sweet, sweet torture, so unlike what any of his previous experience in bondage had ever been. Slowly but inexorably she was replacing every bad memory he had ever had with memories of pleasure and happiness, and it was all because of her, this wonderful woman who had come into his life and released him of a lifetime of hate and bitterness. This was the last step, making being tied up an experience that would forever more sent shivers of pleasure instead of pain through his body. If he had to beg, then by the Maker he would.

"I am begging you, Marian," he whispered. "Stop torturing me." Her eyes went wide in surprise before a knowing, understanding look passed over her face.

She dedicated the next half in pleasing him out of his freaking mind, her talented fingers groping him, kneading him, while her sweet, sweet mouth tormented his aching staff. He could do nothing but groan and moan and jerk against his manacles with enough force to wound his wrists while she took him deep, deep down her throat, her tongue swirling around him, licking, tasting, sucking him until he arched like a bow off the bed and came with a series of deep wrenching moans, emptying himself into her eager mouth.

She climbed up his body and curled around him, finding the catches for the manacles first and releasing his arms, which immediately came to tighten around her. She lay on his chest, listening to his ragged breath and his pounding heart, happy to just inhale the musky scent of his sweat. She waited until his body had stopped trembling and whispered her love against his heart. His arms squeezed her even tighter and cuddled her for a while before she felt his body harden again and he turned her around, settling himself between her spread thighs.

"Again? So soon?" she asked in surprise before he impaled her with a single violent thrust, making her moan and arch up to take him even deeper.

"I have to perform my marital duties, _wife_ ," he growled. "There is a standing bet on the sex of our firstborn, after all."

"About that..."she gasped as his next thrust hit an especially responsive spot inside her. "What... do you think...your present...is?"

Fenris stilled above her and his eyes went wide, before he gave her the widest smile she had ever seen on his face.

"Really?"

"In seven months or so," Hawke replied with one of her own happy, ecstatic smiles, before gripping his ass and arching up to him.

"Now move, Fenris!" she moaned and he readily complied.

No big chore, after all.

 


	17. Exile

 

Kirkwall was burning. The chantry was gone, Anders, that crazy bastard, had blown the huge building and all inside at the time to smithereens. She had cried as she held a knife to his back, cried as she had driven that knife home, cried as he had left his last breath.

Fenris hated it when Hawke cried, but the decision was right. The abomination could not be allowed to live after what he had done. He looked at Sebastian with pity in his eyes- Elthina, the Grand Cleric, had been like a mother to him. He held his wife of only one month in his arms as she cried and raged and he cursed the Maker and the Creators and the Paragons and all the gods to ever have existed for bringing this mess their way, just as their lives were beginning to take some semblance of normalcy.

Hawke had gone against everything she had ever believed in, against her very nature and her mistrust of Knight Commander Meredith and had decided to support the templars. She had ignored Orsino's desperation and silent pleas, too shocked by what Anders had done, wanting to disassociate herself from this madness. It mattered little to Fenris. Mages, templars, she could have decided to support the freaking Tal'Vashoth if she so chose, he would stand by her side.

As they made their way to the Gallows, and while preparing for the final battle, he pulled her aside and asked her, _begged her,_ to step aside and let the rest of them do the fighting. When he saw that even the mention if their unborn child could not persuade her to step down, he sighed, defeated, and kissed her. He knew his Hawke and she had never walked away from a fight in her life. She wasn't going to start now.

"Promise me you won't die," he had pleaded, cupping her cheek with one gauntleted hand and laying the other one on her midsection, where his baby lay. "I can't stand the thought of living without you."

"I won't make this promise unless you do," she had replied.

"Nothing will ever keep me from you!" he had promised and kissed her with a kiss hot enough to burn the city down.

* * *

Hours later, that seemed like days, they were back in their own house. Orsino had turned to blood magic and he was dead. Meredith had turned into a monster, crazed by that accursed idol Bartand had brought back from the Deep Roads and she was dead, now, too. But they had both lived. No- they had all lived, all three of them.

Knight-Captain Cullen had agreed to withdraw the Order of Annulment, to Hawke’s ever-lasting relief. because by the time the battle had ended, only the children and some of the younger mages had remained. Fenris had seen the look in her eyes as she’d waited for Cullen’s decision; despite her exhaustion and some minor wounds she had sustained, he just knew she would not surrender the innocents –children and traumatized young adults- to be slaughtered. Not without another fight. Perhaps Cullen had seen that dangerous, determined light in her eyes as well and had backed down.

Fenris cringed even now to remember the danger she had been in, how his heart had beaten nearly out of his chest every time a sword had come her way, or a spell hit her. It was miracle they had gotten out unscathed, both them and their baby. And without a proper healer. That damned abomination had deserved what he’d got, but there had been times during the battle where Fenris had hoped he was still alive and by their side.

Hawke had been offered the position of Viscountess but had firmly refused. She would not stay in this city anymore, she could not stay and raise her child in this blighted city of death. She chose self-exile for her and her own, looking at him long and hard before speaking, a slight nod his only answer to her silent question.

He now stood in the great hall of the mansion he had called his home for less than year and ached at the thought of leaving it behind, the only place where he remembered ever being happy. Hawke was wandering from room to room, gathering the things that they would take with them, quietly and efficiently packing their belongings, sparing a silent pat on the back of a frantic Orana and a comforting word for Bodahn and Sandal. Orana would go with the dwarves to Orlais and the elven girl was inconsolable at having to be parted with them.

Fenris looked at the beautiful painting above the mantelpiece of the great fireplace, the one Aveline and Donnic had gifted them with on their night of their wedding. So many beautiful things, so many beloved things that they could not afford to take with them. His head bowed, his spirit nearly broken, he felt like breaking something and raging that this was not fair. It was not fair that they should be uprooted from their home, it was not fair that their child would not be born in the bed it was conceived. Every corner of this house held fond memories, there was no room where he and Hawke hadn't made love, where they haven't laughed or talked or argued.

Hawke was suddenly standing in front of him, her gentle hand on his cheek.

"These are just _things_ , Fenris," she said with that uncanny ability she had to understand what upset him. "The people we love are our home, not the house and the furniture and the knick-knacks."

She grabbed his hand and laid it against her still flat belly. " _This_ is our home."

He embraced her then, his beautiful, wonderful witch that always knew how to chase the shadows away, and kissed her slowly, thoroughly, before touching his forehead to hers.

"What great good did I do in another life to ever deserve you, Hawke?"

"What did I, to deserve _you_?"

A wry smile curled his lip. "Need help packing?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

* * *

The gentle roll and pitch of the elegant sailing ship on the waves was soothing and the fresh sea air seemed to wipe bad memories away. Isabela called out commands to her crew and the seagulls squawked overhead. Fenris was leaning against the railings, looking at the black spot in the horizon that was Kirkwall.

A frantic Varric went past him for what seemed to be the fifth time in an hour, heading to a gap in the railing, green in the face and sweating. Fenris chuckled. He had seen the dwarf drinking that foul swill they called ale at the Hanged Man by the gallons and not once had he seen him get sick. But, apparently, the sea disagreed with him. It was justice of a sort.

Varric joined him at the railing, taking a sip of water, rolling it around in his mouth to clean it and spitting it out.

"Come on, Elf, I know you want to say it…" he muttered. "Take your best shot."

"I seem to recall a certain dwarf boasting that he had never been sick a day in his life, Dwarf."

"Not on ale, no. But this accursed swaying…" Varric looked green again.

"It is only until you get your sea legs, Varric," Fenris reassured him.

"My legs are just fine as they are," the rogue protested. "Nice, short, stout dwarven legs, if a bit hairy. The sea doesn't fit in the equation."

"Well at least the sea is calm," the elf casually said. "Imagine if there was a storm…"

Varric just keeled over, and run for a bucket.

Fenris laughed until he saw Hawke go past him in a similar state.

"Ha!" Varric called. "The Maker has a sense of humor. Morning sickness, Elf. I dare you to make fun of her."

Fenris just shot him a chillingly cold look and run to support his wife as she was wobbling back to the cabin.

* * *

Three months later and they were living in a the small hunting cottage Sebastian had provided. The Prince of Starkhaven had swept through his old birthplace, taking it back with a minimum amount of fuss and very little bloodshed. He was the rightful ruler of the city within a month and their gracious host within a second.

There had been reports that the Seekers were sent by the Divine to seek out the Champion and Sebastian had eagerly provided them shelter. The little cabin was lost in the woods, in the Prince's huge private hunting grounds, isolated and protected. It lacked the comforts of their previous home, and it was eerily silent and lonely at times, but they were content. More than content. They were happy.

All alone in their little bubble of privacy, they kept the world away and concentrated on each other and the child that was growing inside her. Nearly six months pregnant now, she was thriving. She was past the morning sickness and the fatigue that had plagued her during the first few months and she was getting bigger by the minute.

"I thought elves were supposed to be lithe and small," she protested one night as they were sitting on the porch, his hands rubbing a soothing lotion over the distended skin of her belly. "This baby is going to be huge."

"Maybe he takes from your side of the family," he smiled, pulling the two halves of her robe together and deftly buttoning her up again. "Your brother was a rather big man as I recall. Besides, half elven children are always human, you know that, Hawke."

"Are you expecting a son, love?" she run her fingers through his hair. "You might be disappointed. I think she kicks like a girl. Hard."

" _He_ kicks like an ogre," he insisted. "I do not know much of little girls. I think I would prefer a son." He rubbed his finger against his chin thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you take orders?"

"No, too late for that, I'm sorry."

She looked away for a while, worry making her frown. “Will it...will it matter to you that out child will not look like an elf?”

Fenris chuckled. “As long as it has ten toes and ten fingers, I care not for the shape of his ears, Hawke.”

She gave him a small, wistful smile, then her eyes trailed the length of his ear, lovingly caressing it. “I’d love it if he or she looked like you,” she smiled sadly. “But with my luck, we’ll get a carbon copy of Carver.”

Fenris smiled, knowing that the thought didn’t really annoy her; she’d loved her brother. She had mourned his passing in the Deep Roads for months, and the mention of his name always brought a small shadow of sadness to her eyes, which she now tried to mask by getting up and stretching.

Hawke stretched again, then put both hands on her aching back. She felt huge and her usual grace was gone. But Fenris didn't seem to mind. If possible he seemed to desire her even more now that she was with child, taking her two or three times every day, waking her up in the middle of the night just to make love because he couldn't wait until morning. She groused that he was wearing her to the ground, but secretly she was overjoyed.

Hawke could still remember the time when their baby had first moved, gentle flutters that you had to be very still and quiet to feel. His eyes had gone as big dinner plates, and he had started trembling. Apparently, he hadn't fully realised up to that point that there was a person inside her, a person they had made together. Later that night she had woken up clutched in his arms while he quietly sobbed against her belly, muttering in Tevene. He’d been sullen and gruff for days afterwards, trying to make up for this unprecedented lack of control by doing manly things and grousing. The only good thing that came out of it was that they would have lots of wood for the winter.

They had progressed to hearty, solid kicks since then, so strong that sometimes she thought her ribs would bruise from the inside. Fenris wore a smug look on his face nearly every time she called him over to 'calm this hellion of a child'. It seemed his deep, velvety voice was the only thing that could keep her child from kicking her bladder black and blue. He would just come over, lay a hand on her belly, and say something like "stop now, little one, you are hurting your mama" and the baby would instantly obey. It was driving her crazy, but she figured she would get her revenge later, when she would use it as an excuse to make him get up in the middle of the night.

Fenris looked at her with adoration in his eyes. She was never so beautiful, so alluring to him as she was now, carrying his child under her heart. He noticed the way her breasts seemed to spill over the loose robe she was wearing, how her belly tented in front of her and desire started gnawing his insides. It stroked his male ego to know the seed he had spilled in her had found root and caused her body to swell. He inspected her body every day for the subtle changes only he could detect, knowing every inch of her as well as he did. Her first stretch mark, the darkening of her nipples, her belly button that was sticking out adorably. He had found that her skin was more sensitive, her breasts even more so- he could make her come just by suckling her. At first he had been terrified to take her, fearing that he would harm her and the baby, but she had laughed when he had confided his fears to her and proceeded to show him just how violent a coupling they could have and still not harm the baby.

He was just ready to reach for her, desire roaring inside him and hardening him so fast that he felt faint, when he heard the distant thunder of horse hooves approaching and he retrieved his sword from where it always lay near the door. He motioned to her to get into the house, but she defied him as always and grabbing her staff, she stood her ground besides him, as the riders came into view. Fenris' keen eyesight told him who the visitor was and he relaxed, putting his sword away with a fond smile.

"Sebastian," he whispered to her, just before the Prince of Starkhaven reigned in his magnificent stallion and dismounted some distance from the house, weary of the mabari. Hector had startled his horse into dumping him unceremoniously onto his ass the last time he was here, and it was not an experience he cared to repeat any time soon.

A blond haired woman came behind him, dressed in mage robes; Fenris was relieved to realize it was the healer Sebastian had promised he would bring to check on Hawke.

The Prince approached them and took Fenris' outstretched hand in a brotherly shake before looking Hawke up and down with a fond smile.

"Getting bigger, I see, Champion," he remarked, his respectful nod belied by his cheeky smirk. "Soon we will need a winch to hoist you up."

Fenris put his palm against his face with a resounding slap. _Fool. Maker help you now_.

Hawke stomped he foot down as fury flashed in her eyes.

"Sebastian Vael, be grateful I should not cast any magic," she fumed, "or I would freeze your princely balls off."

"I can do it for you, my lady," the little mage offered, smiling coldly at Sebastian.

"I meant it in the best possible way, Hawke," he raised his hands defensively, looking to Fenris for help. "Please tell her I was only joking."

"Do not bring me into this, my friend," Fenris laughed. "I think she looks wonderful, even if a bit…chubby."

"THAT IS IT!" Hawke bellowed, "I am turning both of you into toads!"

"Now, now, my Lady," the young mage intervened. "Why don't we forget about these perfect specimens of the idiotic male and go inside and have a look at the young one? Much more pleasant, I think."

Hawke huffed at both of them before going inside, the young healer behind her.

The two men were left outside, catching up on news, while Hawke was being examined. Fenris' eyes kept straying to the door, anxiety riding him. Anders had given a clean bill of health the day after the wedding when he had anxiously dragged him out of his bed to go check on his wife. But she had only been one or two months along, the baby was too small for him to actually tell anything more than that there seem to be no problem.

"She will be alright, Fenris," Sebastian tried to reassure him. "Women have been having babies since the beginning of time, and Hawke is strong and healthy. The babe will be fine, too."

“You don’t know that,” Fenris whispered, his eyes still focused on the door, his shoulders stiff with tension.

“What is troubling you, my friend?” Sebastian gentle burr calmed his nerves. “You can tell me.”

"What if…what if the lyrium in my blood has somehow affected her and the child?" Fenris finally dared to voice his greatest fear, his hands clenching into fists. "What if I have tainted their blood in any way? Lyrium is poisonous in great quantities, and the baby…"

"The babe will be fine," Sebastian laid a hand on the elf's shoulder, his voice sure and gentle. "Do not borrow trouble, my friend. Let the healer do her job. Viana is very capable."

"I am worried about her, giving birth all alone here in the wilderness. What do I know of birthing? What if I can't help her?” The elf’s green eyes made contact with the tall human’s cornflower blue ones, and Sebastian felt a pang of sympathy at the blind panic, at the anguish in the normally stoic elf’s gaze.  “I cannot afford to lose her, Seb. She is all I have."

"Maker, do not say things like that, Fenris!" Sebastian exclaimed. "What kind of friend do you take me for? I would never let the two of you get through this alone. I will send Viana to stay with you when the time is near, or you will come to stay at the palace."

"Thank you, Sebastian," Fenris exhaled, a great deal of stress leaving him at the offer. "You have been a good friend through all this, and I am grateful."

Just then a pale, shocked Hawke came through the door and threw herself in his arms, tears running down her face. He took one look at her stricken expression and his blood froze. A thousands thoughts a minute went through his head, each more chilling than the other: _there is something wrong with the child_ , _there is something wrong with Hawke, the baby is dead_ , _she’s going to..._

"Hawke…" he finally managed to whisper, his voice ghostly thin. "Marian, what is wrong?"

"Triplets!" she cried out. " We are having triplets! How can we be having triplets? Triplets means three babies, Fenris. Three boys. Three. Not one, not two. Three! Three sons! You and your wishing for a son!" she screamed. "How could you do this to me, you bastard?"

He just looked at her for just a moment, stunned, before her words sunk in.

"You blasted wolf, I wanted a baby, not a litter!" she sobbed into his shoulder.

He laughed until tears run down his face.


	18. Correspodence

* * *

_Dear Former Broody Elf,_

_Sebastian tells me I missed one heck of a belly laugh the other day…So, three buns in the oven? Tell Hawke this procreation business isn't like baking. You can pop them out one at a time, you know._

_Seriously now, the Chantry has been sniffing at my heels. Met a lovely young Seeker the other day, goes by the name of Cassandra. Beat the crap out of me for no reason at all, too. After all, telling stories is my favourite hobby, I would have gladly obliged, no need for the dramatics. She wanted to know everything there was to know about your little spouse, and rather insisted I tell her where you two lovebirds are. My nose will never be the same again. Oh well, I was too handsome anyway._

_Aveline and Donnic wrote the other day. They have one up the spout too. I hope it is one, though. If she sends word about twins or triplets, there must something in the water in Kirkwall. Good thing I never touch it._

_I will try to be there for the birth. Wouldn't want to miss the colourful expletives Hawke will invent to decorate your glowy hide as she brings forth triplets, Elf. I still can't get my head around it. She must be as big as a bronto. Don't tell her I said that._

_Take care of her, Fenris._

Your friend,

Varric Tethras

* * *

**Varric,**

**It is lucky you were nowhere near when Hawke read your letter, your broken nose would have been the least of your problems.**

**The babies are healthy and so is Hawke. My hair was white to begin with, so it cannot get any whiter. I do worry though. The healer has warned us that multiple babies often come earlier. She has forbidden...intimacy, among other things.**

**So, you can call me Broody again.**

**Fenris**

* * *

_Dear Broody, (ah, it's nice to return to the basics!)._

_I was sorry to hear about your...blue-balled predicament. How much time left, now? Be patient and reacquaint yourself with your old bachelor ways. You know...come to grip with yourself. Audition the finger puppets. Tickle the pickle. Pummel the priest (not Sebastian). Get my drift?_

_So, when exactly are the pups due? And what should I get you, people, besides an ogre size basinet? I know, I just thought of the perfect gift._

_Fen-Fen you will love this!_

_Give my love to Hawke and a pat on the belly to the chicks...eh, pups....eh...to the brood. Hey, I like that. Broody’s Brood._

_Your friend, Varric_

* * *

**Dwarf,**

**My dislike for you has reached unprecedented heights.**

**Fenris.**

* * *

_Dear Broody,_

_That gave a short note an inferiority complex. Did you really send a messenger for this? Poor man, should have opened the letter and come back to smack you upside the head._

_I'll be coming over with a very special present for you both in a few weeks. Tell Hawke to relieve some of that tension before I arrive at your den, wolf, I don't want you snarling and barking at me._

_See you soon,_

_Varric._

* * *

 

It was a few weeks from the last letter when Fenris, chopping wood in the yard, heard a familiar whistle and a loud dwarven drinking song coming their way. Hector got up from his spot near the doorway, let out a happy woof in greeting, then rushed into the trees, barking excitedly.

Fenris waited, not even having realised how much he had missed Varric until he heard his voice shouting at the mabari to get off him.

Varric finally appeared from among the trees, straightening his clothes and shooting nasty looks to the mabari that was dancing excitedly around him. Fenris actually managed to pretend to brood for a few moments before picking the dwarf up and giving him a big hug.

"Put me down, you blighted elf, you’re embarrassing the shit out of me!" Varric squealed like a girl.

“Look what I brought you."

Orana was standing in the clearing, a happy smile on her face.

"I've come to help with the babies, master...I mean messere," she blushed.

"Thank the Maker!"

"Thank me first." Varric smiled. "Now," he looked around with an expectant smile, "where is Hawke? I thought she'd be so big by now, you wouldn't be able to hide her..."

A shoe flew out of the kitchen window and hit him straight on the nose.

Fenris again facepalmed himself. _Would these people never learn?_

"I am not fat, I am _pregnant_ ," an incensed scream came from the house. "Somebody help me get up so I can kill him!"

Fenris and Orana both run in.


	19. Waiting

 

Fenris paced back and forth. Sebastian was here again, with the cute little healer in tow. Hawke was being examined and he was going out of his mind.

The little cottage was full of people. Varric had stayed on, saying that Broody had needed some cheering up, cracking jokes all day to make Hawke laugh, taking turns with Fenris to rub her feet. The truth was, that no matter how well the dwarf hid it from them, they could tell he had been through an ordeal at the hands of the Seekers. He had bruises that were still healing and a haunted look when nobody was watching. Being with them was doing him good, they could all see that- and he did manage to cheer Fenris up when waves of anxiety rose up to choke him.

Orana was a godsend. She helped Hawke with the daily chores she felt too heavy to accomplish and knitted little booties in her free time, while keeping Hawke company with tales from her brief stay in Orlais. She took over the cooking and the daily chores that everybody was too preoccupied to deal with; Hawke was eating like a dragon, and the extra food was more than welcome.

Sebastian now came once a week, dragging the healer with him. The first time he had arrived and found Varric there, the three males bonded like glue over drinks, the human and the dwarf singing and regaling stories until dawn. The little mage, Viana, had to drag Sebastian to his feet and help steady him on his horse in the morning, cursing under her breath.

Fenris was grateful for the company. He really was. But being alone with Hawke for all this time, he couldn’t help but feel that their privacy was being invaded. He had no alone time with Hawke; not that he could do anything, no matter how much he wanted her, because Viana had forbidden intimacy. But Fenris felt this overwhelming urge to hoard moments with his Hawke, even if he could only hold her and kiss her; there was no longer any privacy for that, though.

“I will have to stay here from now on,” Viana said to no one in particular coming out. “She is nearly full term, the babies could come any day now. We should have a midwife here, too.”

Fenris froze with the news. He didn’t know if he was excited, terrified, or elated. Could you be all three? The thought of holding his babies, his sons, was something that filled him with amazing happiness, and yet…what if he dropped them or if he hurt them or if they cried? What if he was a horrible father? What did he know of babies?

“Ehem,” Varric coughed to get his attention. “OK, there Broody? For a moment you looked a tad green around the gills.”

“Need I remind you the voyage from Kirkwall, dwarf?” Fenris quickly composed himself.

“ I was seasick. What are you? Labour-sick? Shouldn’t Hawke be the one to worry?”

“Easy for you to say. You get to play uncle Varric and leave. I will have to change dirty nappies for three babies,” he replied, a horrified look on his face.

“They still won't come through _your_  honey pot, though. I say Hawke has it worst. Just an observation.”

Fenris looked at the dwarf. Of course. He was being stupid. Hawke was the one who would suffer, who could even…no, he wasn’t even thinking that. He moved past Varric, towards the house, needing to be near her, even if this enforced abstinence was driving him crazy. To be near her and not be able to touch her, have her, was torture. Even so, he just needed to be near her, he needed to breathe in her scent, needed the steady beat of her heart under his hand and the reassuring kicks of his babies against his cheek as he laid his head on her bulging belly.

Viana turned to him at that point.

“Serah Fenris, as much sex as possible from here on,” she said in front of everybody else. “ It will help induce the labour.” She went to speak to Sebastian, who was taking care of their horses,  about the necessary arrangements so she could stay here and have a midwife too.

A wolfish smile lit up Fenris’ face, as the healer walked away. Varric chuckled and pulled Orana for a stroll in the woods.

“Have fun, soon to be ex-Broody.”

Hawke was lounging on their bed, lying on her side and reading some obscure tome on healing magic. She had decided it was something she needed to learn, but with the restriction on her magic use because of the pregnancy, she could only soak up the theory. He slipped next to her and put his arm, or tried to, around her waist. Her abdomen was so extended he could not circle her with both arms.

He started tracing circles on her stomach and nibbling on her throat, but she squatted at him like an irritating fly.

“Fenris, I’m reading,” she groused. “Besides, you’re starting something we can’t finish.”

“On the contrary, we now have permission to be intimate.”

“Really?”

“It will apparently assist the labour,” he said, returning to her neck to trace her skin with his tongue, while his hands delved underneath the helm of her night shirt, stroking up a velvety thigh, hiking the fabric higher.

“I don’t know how we would manage it, I feel so huge, I can barely move…Oh this is nice…” her voice got a dreamy quality as his hands delved between her legs, stroking her, fanning her desire.

“We will manage, love,” he reassured her with that dark throaty chuckle that never failed to send shivers down her spine. He then captured her mouth in a series of drugging, devouring kisses and effectively shut up all her protests. His hand continued stroking her folds, and she moaned into his mouth, getting wetter and wetter by the minute.

He helped her out of her shirt, and knelt next to her on the small bed,  quickly sacking his clothes off too, while his eyes devoured her beautiful body, unchanged except for those creamy breasts that seemed to have doubled and the distended mound of her belly. He run a tender hand over his babies and got a hearty kick in return, making him chuckle and whisper “shhhh, little ones, daddy and mommy are busy”. She frowned when the babies readily complied and he smiled his usual smug smile.

“I want to see you smile like that when that voice of yours will be the only thing calming them down at two in the morning,” she remarked with a pout and was gratified to see  his smile falter and a rather terrified look cross his face for a minute.

His kept smoothing his hand over her tummy, a little foot poking there, or it was an elbow, who knew.

“What if I am a horrible father, Hawke?” his eyes held a vulnerability she had seldom been allowed to glimpse. “What if I don’t..”

“Hush, love, you will be perfect,” she laid a palm against his cheek, cradling his face. Her eyes met his and she poured all her love and tenderness into her gaze and her voice. “You love them so much already, Fenris, and really, that’s all babies need. Love.”

She smiled impishly, trying to lighten the mood. “And of course someone to feed them and burp them and change them…and you had better be planning to help, buster, because you enjoyed the whole process while I’m here bloated like a beached whale…” he stopped the tirade with a chuckle and a kiss.

“I don’t see how I could help with the feeding, Hawke,” he palmed and fondled her alabaster breasts, now crowned with slightly darker tips, and caught the small drop of milk that escaped her with his tongue. “Seeing that you have the appropriate equipment and I do not.”

He bent his white haired head to her and took her nipple deep into his mouth, suckling her tenderly. She hissed and tried to arch into his mouth. Already the tight coil of tension was winding up in her centre, making her feel as if fire had ignited in the pit of her belly. He could make her come just by fondling her breasts, she was that sensitive, and she started mewling helplessly as his mouth continued to worry her pouting nipple, his other hand lost between her legs, stroking her with practiced ease. Fenris moaned at the sweet, earthy taste of her milk flooding his mouth,  then laved her nipple with his talented tongue, almost purring in pleasure and desire.

“Maker,” he gasped as he turned to her other breast. “I can’t wait to see you breastfeed.”

“Fenris…” she gasped his name as her orgasm hit her unexpectedly, spurred on by the longing tone of his gravely baritone, not building up gradually but suddenly slamming into her. He turned her to her side with a growl as she struggled to catch her breath, her whole body trembling in pleasure, and lifting her leg he slipped his entire length into her tight sheath, a nearly tortured moan escaping him at the feel of her body tightening around him.

They rocked slowly, languidly together, until he felt the slippery threads of his control break and he lifted himself up on his forearm, getting into a better position to slam deeply inside her. He had missed this so much it took almost superhuman strength to control himself until she had found her pleasure for a second time, moaning and calling his name so loudly that he had to clap a hand over her mouth. He let go and emptied himself into her, biting down on his lip until he drew blood so as not to be heard, and they collapsed on the bed together, drenched in sweat and trembling in the aftermath.

He needed have worried about being overheard though, as Varric and Orana were just then returning from their little stroll, only to find Viana, the healer, pinned against a tree by Sebastian, who was busy kissing the petite blond mage within an inch of her life.

Orana blushed and averted her eyes, and Varric sighed. Love was in the air, it seemed.

“Let’s take another stroll, shall we?” he offered his arm to Orana again and gently shepherded her towards the path they had just come from.

“There must be something in the water,” he commented. Orana blushed even more at a strangled, deep moan coming from the cottage. Varric just sighed. Behind them, in the ticket of trees, Sebastian had all but lifted Viana off the ground, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Yep.” Varric shook his head. “Something in the water, no doubt.”

 

               

 


	20. Delivery

 

It was in typical Hawke fashion that she would choose the worst time possible to go into labour, Fenris thought, desperately trying to make his way home through the pouring rain. He hadn’t been away from her side for more than a few minutes all this time and the one time, the one time he had to be away for more than an hour she had gone into labour. Infuriating, maddening woman!

He had been escorting Sebastian to town, as the Prince had born grave news the previous time he had visited. Seekers had seen asking about Hawke in Starkhaven and especially about the Prince and his relationship with them. The Chantry hounds were closing in on them and like the White Wolf he was, he would protect his lair, his mate and his young with all he had. Viana had assured him she had a few days to go yet, so he made up his mind, kissed Hawke goodbye and hopped on one of the horses Sebastian had brought along.

Sebastian had questioned the wisdom of him showing his face in town, since he was even more easily recognizable than Hawke with his lyrium markings and white hair, but he had felt the need to scout, and form some kind of an escape route. The Prince had ensured him the Seekers would never find them in the cabin, and that they would never dare interrogate him as they had Varric, but still, Fenris had been restless and worried. 

Regardless, the point was moot. Not a few hours into the woods and they’d heard heavy galloping behind them. It was Varric, riding the huge stallion with obvious discomfort, short legs not making him the best of riders. He reigned the animal to a stop, its glistening skin and lathered mouth a testament that he had ridden as quickly as he had dared.

“Hawke went into labour,” he just said, and as if it was a sign from the Maker the heavens opened up and heavy rain started pelting down on them.

“Oh, for the love of the Maker!” Sebastian exclaimed. “Not now!”

“This is Hawke we’re talking about. ‘Not now’ is like challenging her to actually do it now. ” Varric mumbled.

Fenris just cursed luridly and started back at a gallop, leaving the other two behind.

* * *

He burst through the door, wet as a dog and panting heavily as if he had run all the way himself, only to find Hawke peacefully reading a book while Orana played a relaxing tune of her lute. The midwife and the healer were busily chatting away at the corner and jumped out of their skins when he came in like he did, both of them gasping and nearly shrieking.

He looked at them all, flabbergasted. He had expected a grizzly scene, with Hawke screaming in agony, blood and gore everywhere and the healer and the midwife rushing around in panic.

Hawke looked up from her book and greeted him with a joyful smile, which soon died as she noticed his eyes shooting thunders at her and his lips scowling.

“Fenris,” she whispered, “is something wrong?”

“Damn it all to the Fade and back, woman, I thought you told Varric you went into labour. I nearly crashed into a tree coming back!” he didn’t know whether to be angry or relieved, worried that the babies were coming or …that they weren’t coming.

“Now, now, messere,” the midwife, an old, withered woman with years of experience in delivering babies and calming frantic fathers, stepped in, “her water broke a couple of hours back, but this process usually takes time…it could be hours before the babes are here.”

“Hours?” Fenris stuttered. Oh, Maker, he wouldn’t survive _hours_! He regained control with visible effort and focused on Hawke.

“Are you alright?”

“Just small aches and twinges, for now,” she replied with a strained smile, “and very far apart.”

“That could change in a heartbeat,” the midwife remarked and turned to Fenris again. “You can wait outside messere, we will call you if something changes.”

He took a look at Hawke who was smiling encouragingly and waving him towards the door. If he hadn’t known her so well, if he couldn’t read her like he could, he would never have caught the small tension lines around her mouth, or the way her eyes were avoiding him. She was scared. His little brave mage, who had taken on dragons, demons and abominations without flinching, was scared and trying to hide it. For his sake? Stupid, foolish woman trying to protect him even now.

He crossed the room, slipped into the bed beside her and gave her a heated kiss. She settled into his arms, a relieved sigh leaving her lips and Fenris just glowered at the midwife who was regarding him as something the cat had dragged in.

“I am not leaving my wife,” he declared.

“Men in a birthing room, Maker help us…” the midwife muttered a curse under her breath. “ I hope you are not squeamish, ser?”

Fenris just looked at her. He let his marking glow briefly in warning. Once. Twice. She got the message.

 

* * *

Hours later, he regretted his decision but it was too late to change it. He could not abandon Hawke to her pain although he felt as close to panic as he had ever been in his life. He stayed beside her, letting her clutch his hand when the pain came, soothing her with gentle words and whispered apologies. She had called him every name in the book, names that would make the raunchiest dock-worker blush and run for mommy. He had called himself even worse. It was a good thing that there were three babies because he was not putting her through this again, he would rather castrate himself than see her in so much pain. If she didn’t castrate him first.

He rubbed her heaving belly between the bouts of pain that came with every contraction, watching with fascination and dread as her muscles rippled. The midwife seemed very calm and kept telling them everything was fine and he wanted to rip her heart out. Everything was not fine. His Hawke was in pain, so much pain. How could these two women just sit and watch? Why didn’t they do something?

Suddenly, the midwife, who was kneeling between Hawke’s spread legs, exchanged a look with Viana, the healer, and asked him to sit behind Hawke and support her because the first baby was crowning. He assumed position as fast as possible and Hawke just leaned into him, exhausted and trembling with the force of her pain.  Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, and she gave a cry of agony that made him want to put his fist through a wall, feel a little of the pain she was feeling.

The midwife told her to push with all her strength, she gripped both his arms in her hands and bore down screaming like a banshee and then… a wet sound and an indignant wail. Fenris watched in awe as the midwife removed a red squealing thing covered in blood and gore from between her legs and gave it to Orana who cuddled it in a towel and took it to a basin to wash. He heard cheers coming from outside and relieved ‘thank you’s to the Maker and absentmindedly wondered what had gotten Varric and Sebastian so excited.

Then it hit him. No, it slammed into him like a high dragon in full speed. His son. His son had just been born. That squealing red thing was one of the babies he and Hawke had made together. That little puppy-like creature that was flailing furious fists at Orana as she was washing it, was one of the babies that had begun their life a night of passion nine months ago. A part of him and a part of Hawke. His family. The first of his children. And Hawke, Maker bless her, was laughing. How could she be laughing after all she had gone through? How could she be laughing when there were two more babies to bring forth?

“Listen to him, love,” she laughed and cried at the same time. “Doesn’t he sound furious?”

Fenris could not even think let alone speak. He was so shocked, so in awe of what had just happened his brain could not form coherent thoughts. But it was when Orana put the little mewling newborn against Hawke’s breast that he lost it. Tears started running down his face and he just let them, unaware and unashamed. He counted ten toes and ten fingers, ran a gentle finger along a slightly pointed tiny ear and held his breath the whole time, as if even a breeze would break the fragile miracle in front of him.

“Felix,” he whispered, his voice cracking, “welcome, little one.”

The baby’s eyes opened at the sound of his voice and both he and Hawke laughed at how he seemed to be searching for the source with his unfocused and still milky eyes, eyes that Hawke just knew would later turn to the same brilliant green colour as his father’s.

She glanced up at him, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the pain rising again like a gigantic wave set to crash.

“I think the second one is coming,” she clenched her teeth. “Oh, Maker, I don’t think I can do this!”

Fenris felt panic grip his throat again and focused on her, as Orana was taking Felix away.

“I am right here beside you, Hawke,” he wrapped his arms around her, gaining an approving look from the midwife. “Just a little more, and Felix will meet his little brother.”

She gave him a blistering look and a few choice curses that had the midwife gasping and Fenris coughing to mask his laughter. It was probably not a good thing for him to be laughing while she was in pain. Just a thought.

He watched as her face contorted with pain once again, then listened as she groaned and whimpered. He didn't know much, but he did know they were getting close.

"How are you feeling?" It was one of those stupid questions he hadn't wanted to utter, but his worry superseded good sense.

“Just peachy keen, you have to try this!” she gasped through another contraction.

“I think I’ll pass, thank you.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing…”

“Push, Serah Hawke,” the midwife urged her, interrupting them, “this baby is coming fast.”

Hawke gripped his forearms, filled her lungs with air and pushed. A distressed scream escaped her, and she bit her lip, tasted blood. Her knees shook. She felt as if she was being ripped apart. Behind her, Fenris lent her his strength, a wall of support at her back.

She cried out as her child came into the world, their wails intermingled. Collapsing back against him, she smiled weakly, listening to the piercing squall of her second baby-sweet, sweet music.

“Fox, his name is Fox,” she whispered as Orana took that baby to be cleaned too, Fenris kissing her hair and wiping the sweat off her brow, whispering how proud he was of her, how proud he was of their perfect babies, how much he loved her, how he was here for her and would always be.

Little Fergal was born exactly ten minutes afterwards by a mother that was running purely on adrenaline and anticipation. Fenris had never respected a woman more in his life as when she overcame her exhaustion to fight for her last baby, pulling on reserves of strength that he could never even conceive it was humanly possible to have. She smiled a weary, fatigued smile at him, said something in the lines of ‘yay me, I did it’ and promptly fell asleep while the healer was still patching her up and the midwife was busy with after birth clean up.

He gave her a lingering kiss on her cheek and run a hand through her sweaty and matted hair before he got up to let her get more comfortable. And to check on his babies. A happy grin on his face, he run his hands over every inch of their rosy skin, their downy hair, dark like their mother’s, their miniature hands and tiny feet, crooning to them and inhaling their charming, brand new scent, falling hopelessly and irrevocably in love.

He was taken out of his trance by a tap on the door and Varric’s voice.

“Hey, Broody, when do we get to meet your brood?”

He laughed and opened the door to let them in, signaling with a finger across his lips that they should be silent so as not to wake Hawke. He noticed a heated look Sebastian gave to the healer. His eyebrows rose at that last one. Well. That was good.  His sons would need playmates soon. Preferably little girls.

“My friends,” he led them in front of his babies, “meet Felix, Fox and Fergal.”

“Oh, please, stop it!!” Varric laughed. “You are killing me with inspiration. Broody’s Brood. The F pack. The Menagerie. The Wolf Cubs Club. You chose those names just to give me fodder.”

Viana pushed three breathlessly giggling men out of the room, one of them trying to look offended and failing miserably.

She shook her head. Then she smiled.              

Sebastian had better be getting used to babies soon.

He had seven months or so.

Twins.

Girls both of them.

 

**By the way, the babies’ names are in Old English and they mean:**

**Felix – Prosperous, lucky**

**Fox –Cunning**

**Fergal –** **Brave, courageous**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for leaving my updates behind so much...Life hasn't been easy this past year. The economic crisis has hit my family as well and I had to work three jobs to support my family, which nearly fell apart. In view of all this, my writing fell behind- I lost all interest in fan fiction. But I'm back now, and I will be updating once a week from now on. Thank you for being so patient.


	21. families

Hawke slept a deep, dreamless sleep for hours. When she finally woke up, she found that her body still felt like it had been run over by wild horses and that her privates ached. Her breast also felt incredibly swollen and heavy. But happiness was the first thing she remembered. Had her babies really been born? It hardly seemed real. She was a mother now? And Fenris a father?

She looked to her side and the sight took her breath away. Fenris was sitting in the chair next to his bed, a sleeping baby in his arms. He had opened the blanket and was running a tender hand down his son’s body, examining his little fingers and toes as if they were a wonder of nature. A surprisingly strong grip around his finger suddenly had him smiling and the smile was so lovely, happy and proud it brought tears to Hawke’s eyes.

“Who might that be you have there, love?” she asked with a fond little grin. Her last two babies had come so quickly she barely had time to look at them before they were taken away.

Fenris gave her an achingly sweet kiss and handed her the baby.

“Fergal,” he whispered, the proud smile getting even wider. “The grunt of the litter.”

“Don’t you mean the runt of the litter?”

“No, the grunt. He keeps grunting like a greedy little pig and waking the others. I think he misses his mother.”

She laughed and focused on her baby. He was perfect. Just perfect. She could already see traces of the man she loved in his lips and nose and in the slightly pointed little ears. She could see traces of her family and herself too. Carver’s chin, her cheekbones. Her father’s eye shape. Maker, he was perfect!

“Are they all alright?”

“Thirty fingers, thirty toes. In total, not each. They are also identical, so what you see there is what you get. Other than writing their names on their foreheads, I haven’t the foggiest idea how to tell them apart.”

She smiled and held his eyes. There was love there, so much love, and pride. But there was also the tiniest trace of fear. Relieved that she wasn’t the only one scared out of her mind by this new responsibility, she covered his hand with hers.

“You are a father,” she simply stated and watched as that small trace of fear grew larger. “How do you feel?”

“Frankly? I’m terrified,” he said with a self-mocking little smirk.

“Good. I am not alone in this, then.”

He leaned in and caught he lips in a devouring kiss, hot and wet and incredibly intimate.

“You will never be alone again, Marian,” he whispered against her mouth, suckling on her bottom lip, dipping his tongue in her mouth, tormenting her with the desire he woke inside her. His soulful green eyes caught hers and he gazed deep into her eyes. “I love you. Thank you for my sons.”

They were interrupted by a grunting little noise. They both looked down at Fergal who had his mouth open and was blindly looking for her nipple, making adorable little piggish sounds.

“As I said, the grunt of the litter.”

They both laughed and Hawke handed him the baby while she struggled to open the neckline of her shift. Fenris held Fergal in one strong, confident hand and helped her, lifting her heavy, swollen breast free and gathering the drop of milk that escaped her with his tongue, making her gasp and whisper that he had to be good boy and share. He then watched in rapture as she settled the avid little mouth of his son on her budding nipple and the baby started squealing like a pig, gulping down so greedily that they both started giggling.

Identical wailing cries sounded from the basinet and Fenris scrambled to get his sons, taking just a moment to admire the image Hawke made with his baby on her breast. He mentally catalogued that picture in his head under ‘mother totally in love with her child’ and rushed to soothe his first and second born.

Fergal had just finished drinking and she was holding his little body on her shoulder to burp him when she heard Fenris’ deep velvety voice singing a lullaby from the other room. Tears sprang to her eyes. Who could have imagined her white wolf could sing so beautifully? A rude, incredibly loud belch surprised her and she looked at the now sleeping infant suspiciously. “You are not Carver returned to haunt me, are you?” she whispered.

The cries in the other room quieted and Fenris came back with the second baby and took Fergal in his arms.

“Meet Fox, mommy.”

“Nice to meet you Fox,” she smiled at her second born. “Can I get you anything? Some milk perhaps?”

The baby opened his eyes and regarded her coolly, a somber expression on his little face. It was so ridiculous a look on such a small face that she gasped and laughed.

“He is the quiet one. The brooder of the brood,” Fenris remarked.

“Oh, no...Don’t tell me you actually passed your brooding to one of my babies!”

“Not to worry, you passed your giddiness to Felix. That child is hours old and I could swear he is already smiling.”

“Thank the Maker!” she exclaimed. “Someone else with my sunny disposition.”

Fenris sat next to her and run a gentle hand on his son’s downy head. His eyes kept straying to her pale, milk-filled breasts though. He kissed the top of his sons head and then claimed her mouth once again.

“How long until we can…you know?”

“About two months or so,” she gasped as his hand slid down her thigh.

“That much?” he seemed disappointed. “I don’t think I can keep my hands off you for so long.”

“You don’t have to…there are …other things we can do.”

A wicked smile lit his face.

“Indeed.”

* * *

Once the babies had been fed and burped, Fenris went out to take a breath of fresh air. It was changing time and thankfully Orana had stepped in. He didn’t think he would ever master the art of changing dirty nappies.

He found Sebastian pacing under a tree in the clearing up ahead, clearly upset about something. The Prince raised his head at his approach and gave him a friendly smile but one more careful look could tell that it was clearly strained.

“Is something wrong, my friend?” Fenris gently pried.

“Viana is pregnant. She just told me.”

“I see. Yours I suppose?”

Sebastian looked murderously angry, as if he was about to hit him.

“Of course they are mine, what are you implying?”

Fenris raised his hands defensively. “I didn’t mean anything, Sebastian, honestly…wait! Did you say _they_ are yours?”

“Twins… Girls…. Maker!”

The last thing Fenris wanted to do was to laugh at his friend’s predicament. Honestly. He just couldn’t help himself. He snorted a few times trying to keep it in but in the end…oh, well Sebastian would forgive him.

The Prince stormed off after unsuccessfully trying to get Fenris to stop laughing, muttering blasphemous curses about Andraste’s unmentionables.

Fenris wiped the tears of mirth that had escaped him. He wished for a son, he got three. He wished for playmates for his boys, preferably girls and he was getting them too. Maybe he should ask for a few dragons to drop their hoard on their roof.

Or maybe for the two months before he could enjoy his wife to go by quickly.


	22. Contest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly floored that so many people are following the re-publishing of this story, and how eager you all were to forgive my extended absence and to offer support.  
> Thank you. I have nothing else to say.
> 
> As for this chapter...I remember that when I had first posted it, it was the very first scene where I'd written anal, and I was blushing furiously all the time. LOL. Considering some of the things I have written since, it now seems ridiculous, but still...lol. I think I'm blushing again, in fond rememberance.

Sebastian just stormed through the door and stopped dead at the sight of Fenris watching Hawke breastfeeding one of their babies, only they knew which one. It amazed him how within just a few days Fenris and Hawke had managed to tell them apart just by the sound of their crying but he guessed they heard it a lot. Those babies were crying, eating and …nappy-filling machines. They were running everybody ragged.

In the month since they had been born they had grown like weeds, their eyes clearing until everyone agreed with Hawke they would get Fenris’ colour and their cries rising in pitch and frequency. Hawke was exhausted all the time, eating like an ogre and seemingly with a baby hanging on her breast all the time. By the time all the babies had been fed, burped and changed it was time to do it all over again. Varric had been pressed into nappy duty along with Orana, Fenris was official burper, bather and pacifier, his velvety voice nearly hoarse from all the lullabies he had been singing.

Sebastian blushed and turned away. The sight of Hawke’s pale breast was hardly erotic to him, especially with the little baby latched on to her nipple, but Fenris’ hot look was making him uncomfortable. He felt as if he had invaded into a very private, very intimate scene. The elf had already been endlessly teased by Varric for getting ‘affected’ every time he watched his wife breastfeed. This time seemed to be no different if the look on his face was anything to judge by.

Hawke raised her head and smiled, while expertly switching the baby to her other breast, Fenris leaning in and laying an openmouthed kiss on her nipple, oblivious to Sebastian’s presence, making Hawke blush furiously and smack him on the head.

“What…?” Fenris looked around, spotted Sebastian, who had turned his back and was busy examining the cracks in the wall, the tips of his ears crimson red. “Oh…Sebastian. Pardon me.  I didn’t failed to notice you.”

“Obviously,” Hawke muttered.

Fenris took his son who had fallen asleep on her breast and held him to his shoulder, helping Hawke make herself more presentable at the same time. The baby burped and spit up some milk on his tunic, and he made an appalled face.

“Felix, you are disgusting,” he protested in a voice filled with tenderness and his first born opened his eyes and actually curled his lips in a little smile. “You are indeed lucky you have your mother’s smile, little one, or else…”

He looked over at Sebastian, who had an uncustomary scowl on his face, and handed Felix over to him. Sebastian accepted the baby with a surprised look and held him as one would a ticking bomb. He wasn’t good at this, Maker help him, how was he supposed to handle babies of his own? He was still reeling from the shock of what Viana had revealed and the complications that arose for both his personal life and his position as a ruler.

Felix, opened his eyes, took one look at Sebastian and instead of bawling at being held by unfamiliar hands gave a smile with those rosy, pouty lips and closed his eyes again, totally at ease and with absolute faith that he was in good hands. Sebastian was floored. His heart gave a little lurch and he smiled at eh little scrap, settling him in his arms more comfortably.

“You are a little charmer, yes you are,” he cooed to the baby, making those ridiculous crooning sounds he’d always made fun of.

Hawke smiled indulgently, and reached for the pitcher of water next to the bed. Fenris rushed to serve her a glass of the cool liquid and took the opportunity to sit on the chair next to her. He exchanged am amused look with Hawke, both of them proud as peacocks at how their offspring had managed to wrap everyone around their tiny fingers. But he saw the morose look return on Sebastian’s face and sighed.

“Viana, I suppose.”

“She is leaving me,” Sebastian muttered, the shock still evident in his voice.

Fenris and Hawke exchanged a worried look.

“What happened?” Hawke gently prodded. “What did she say?”

“That she would not condemn herself to being a glorified mistress, that her children, _her children_ , deserve to be more than the royal bastards,” Sebastian absent-mindedly replied, still shocked at having his proposal turned down by the little spitfire.

“I don’t understand,” Hawke looked from one male to the other, confusion evident on her face. “You did ask her to marry you, didn’t you? Why would she be talking about…”

“He asked her to be his Royal Consort, apparently, did you not Vael?” Fenris explained, his voice chilled. “He cannot marry a mage, his subjects would never accept it.”

“Sebastian Vael, you should be ashamed of yourself!” Hawke yelled, incensed beyond words. “How could you do this to the mother of your children? Ask her to be no more than..than…your _whore_?”

Sebastian’s head snapped up, the blue of his eyes made even more brilliant by the way his face paled.

“I did no such thing,” he protested, paused, thought about it and paled even more. “Oh, Maker, I did, didn’t I? Oh, sweet Maker, that’s what she meant!”

He started pacing, still cradling Felix against his chest. The baby started fussing, as if it had somehow sensed the agitation of the man holding it. “I thought it was the perfect solution,” he mumbled, then came to a halt abruptly in front of Hawke and Fenris. “She is a mage- what else could I do? Damn her pride,” he bit his lip, then sighed. “Maker’s blood. I forgot how proud she is. What am I to do? I cannot lose her.”

Fenris walked to him, took Felix out of his hands and quickly returned him to his room to sleep with his siblings. He came back to find that Sebastian hadn’t moved, still pale and with shattered eyes. Sighing and cursing under his breath, he stepped closer and shook him to clear the stricken look from his face.

“Oh, Maker!” Sebastian could only mutter. “Maker, what can I do? She’s carrying my children.”

“Do you love her?” Hawke spoke up, her voice gentle. “Because if you do…her being a mage, your position, the people’s opinions…nothing matters, Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows scrounged up in confusion. “Of course I do,” he easily offered, then his eyes gentled. “She is…just amazing.”

Fenris breathed a long-suffering sigh. “Then I suggested you stop Makering about and go after her,” he growled, Sebastian’s stupidity reminding him of his own past mistakes that had led him to lose so much time with Hawke. “If even _I_ found a way to overcome loving a mage, surely you can as well.”

Sebastian looked at Fenris, then at Hawke and rushed out of the door, his face set in a hard scowl, determined strides eating up the distance to the small camp the healer and Varric had set up near the cabin.

Fenris and Hawke watched from the window as he dragged Viana out among the trees, both of them shouting at each other, Sebastian grasping her by her frail little shoulders and giving her a good shake. The prince was a tall, well-built man and Viana a little petite sprite but she was fearless and fiery and she gave as good as she got. She tried to escape his grasp, landing a resounding slap across his face, before she was picked up, pinned against a tree, bared within minutes and ravaged by a nearly feral Sebastian.

They watched, mouths twitching, stealing wicked glances at each other, knowing the right thing to do was to turn away but mesmerized by the sight. Hawke fanned herself, feeling a blush spreading.

“He is rather talented, isn’t he?”

“Fast, nonetheless,” Fenris remarked. “Not enough finesse.”

“Still, …oh, that looks painful…still, I was saying, it is easy to see why his parents sent him to the chantry to correct his wild ways...” She coughed and licked her suddenly dry lips. “And he is rather …well endowed.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

“Not to worry, love,” she reassured him, “he doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

“Good to know.”

He moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her, and pressed himself against her backside. The feeling of his length, already hard for her, made her draw in a strained breath. He nipped at his favorite spot where her neck met her creamy shoulder, marking her for the whole world to see and then laved the slight sting with his tongue. Hawke hummed her enjoyment, grinding her luscious ass against him. A hoarse, rough chuckle escaped him as his lips trailed up her neck until they reached her ear, licking and nibbling on the pretty shell.

“How much longer, yet?” he asked, his voice strained, rubbing himself against her backside, his hands palming her breasts.

“Just a couple of weeks,” Hawke moaned, arching back onto his chest, the movement making her nipples rasp deliciously against his palms, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her loins. “Viana said I’ll be as good as new by then.”

He smiled into her neck. He had sought out the healer too, blushing furiously as he asked for directions on what he could and could not do to his wife while she recovered. He had been beetroot red by the time she finished explaining, unfazed as always and ruthlessly honest and direct. He had coughed and thanked her, while Varric, who happened to be passing by and heard the last part of their conversation was wiggling his brows suggestively and making lewd comments.

He slid a hand up her velvety thigh, hiking up the skirt of her short robe at the same time until it was bunched up around her waist. He run his hand over the pert globes of her ass, petting and fondling her firm flesh, making his intent crystal clear to her and she chuckled and leaned even further back, angling her head back so she could demand his kiss.

“Pervert…” she whispered into his mouth, a small smile curling her lips which he immediately traced with his tongue before claiming her mouth in a series of drugging, intoxicating kisses.

“Who is the greatest pervert, Hawke,” he asked, his voice dark and excited, while he slipped his hand under her smallclothes and finding her already dripping wet, “the one who does it or the one whose body begs for it?”

He groaned and dipped his fingers in her crevice, finding her forbidden entrance. He gathered some of the moisture that had escaped her and generously laved her before slipping a finger inside her tight nether passage making her gasp and moan. He was nearly incoherent with need at this point and he kept trailing kisses up and down her neck, whispering dark and raunchy things in her ear. In all the time they had been together he had only requested anal sex a couple of times and every time he felt guilty afterwards even though she seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. This time, though his need was so great that he was ready to beg and cajole and was grateful he didn’t have to.

“More,” she whimpered, her hands stretching above her head to trail down his hair and his neck and then lower down, trying blindly to undo his britches and release his aching member. He slipped another finger in and her knees nearly buckled, so he bend her forward on the window ledge, growling at the sight of her ready and submissive with her ass high in the air.

He left her there for just a minute, just enough to grab a bottle of oil from the bedside table- the same he used on her on the delicate skin of her stomach while she was pregnant- and returned to her, nearly predatory in his desire, his erection making it difficult to walk. He quickly freed himself, his hands fumbling with the leather laces of his britches that were strained to nearly breaking. He dripped a generous amount of oil down her crack, his fingers returning to her entrance, dipping in and intimately stretching her.

He could not speak, and she could only moan her desire, the temperature in the room rising to match that of their bodies, hot and aching and bothered. Fenris’ whole body shook with anticipation and excitement at the dark, forbidden act she was allowing him, no, begging him for, with little mewling gasps and sighs, more than enough to make him forget that he had her bent over in front of the window, that anyone passing by could see them and hear them, just as they could hear faded cries and moans coming from the direction of the woods.  Just as they could see Sebastian and Viana, now on the ground under the trees, rolling over in the dead leaves, the petite mage riding him like an Amazon.

Hawke looked back and her dilated, hooded eyes were a testament to how much she was enjoying herself. Fenris held her gaze, watching as pain and pleasure mixed as he slowly slipped inside, giving her time to adjust, time he fought with everything in him to grand her, his control already stretched too thin. She drew in a shuddering breath when he had embedded himself in her tightness, and he moaned, a deep, tortured sound vibrating in his chest.

She moved back against him, trying to take him in deeper, wiggled her hips to make him move, and he lost it. Wild groans and moans filled the air, whispered pleas for _harder_ , _faster_ , growls and pleas to the Maker, as he started thrusting in her, pleasure and pain intermingling for both of them. Hawke could only keen and moan, the feeling of him inside her, stretching her, his panting breath and rumbling moans in her ears, his hands bruising on her hips as he grasped her and plunged his length in a punishing rhythm. She gripped the window ledge until her knuckles were white, the taut coil of tension inside her tightening and tightening until she was ready to self-combust, her magic springing free and sending tingles of electricity across both their bodies.

He tensed and groaned, already past the frail limit of his control, slipped his fingers to her front and rubbed her aching nub, making her buckle and contract with a scream, sending her over the edge while he found his own release, growling her name, and collapsed against her. They battled to find their breath together, still joined, their bodies slick with sweat, when a resounding clapping outside the window made them stir and raise eyes hazed from pleasure.

Varric was standing right in the middle of the distance between them and the spot in the woods where Sebastian was frantically trying to cover himself and Viana up, smirking and looking from one couple to the other, clapping.

Hawke squealed and Fenris picked her up, mortified at what the dwarf had seen, and laid her on the bed. He quickly donned a pair of britches, grateful that at least her upper body had been covered. He was blushing so furiously Hawke couldn’t suppress a giggle.

“Don’t worry, love” she reassured him, “Varric is a gentleman deep down inside.”

Just then Varric’s voice, amused and little breathless, came up to them.

“Well, I have to give the Choir Boy points for public exposure but you beat him hands down in kinkiness, Broody. Match goes to the elf!”

Fenris raised an eyebrow to Hawke.

“How deep down inside is that, exactly?”

She raised on her knees to kiss him.

“At least we won.”

 


	23. Firsts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another new chapter, exclusive to A03, because I had a hankering for some fluff tonight.

Firsts. First moments. So amazingly precious, such amazing little gifts.

Felix’s first toothy grin. Fox’s first cooing babble. Fergal’s first laugh.

Fenris stood over the crib where his sons slept, in the dead of night, only the pale moonlight coming through the window casting some light over the tiny little heads with their dark, downy hair. He stood there, silently, watching their pouty little mouths make suckling motions in their sleep.

Miraculous presents he had been given, all three of them.

His mouth curled into a small smile at the memories. Three incredible months, since the day they had been born, three months filled with exhaustion, frustration, sleepless nights. Filled with joy and pride and happiness.

The first time they had managed to hold their heads up on their own and looked at the world with mossy green, inquisitive eyes that already shone with the bright light of their distinct, completely different personalities. Felix, who had a smile for everyone, who was easy-going and agreeable. Fox, who regarded everyone with a sombre look of almost weighing speculation. Fergal, who was demanding and greedy for everything-milk, attention, love- and who wailed if anyone removed one of his brothers from his reach. A protector in the making, his youngest one, only at ease when both his older but significantly smaller brothers were sleeping at either side of him.

Fenris’ smile grew larger. His babies. His precious little boys.

He reached out, running a tender finger down Fox’s chubby cheek. Skin as soft as the most expensive silk. A milk-scented puff of air. A little nose twitching in annoyance. Fox shifted a little in his sleep, making Fenris draw his hand back in sudden fear he had awakened him. A tiny fist flailed for an instance, then landed on Fergal’s chest, and the youngest made a little gurgled sound and kicked out, making the blanket slip down.

Fenris held his breath, then exhaled softly when the babies made no other sound. He tucked the blanket up around their little bodies again, and leaned in to lay a careful kiss against each little head in turn, something fluttering in his chest.

A small sound caught his attention and he turned back to see Hawke, bleary-eyed and looking dishevelled from sleep, shooting him a dirty look.

“Maker be my witness,” she mumbled, “if you wake them up I’m going to castrate you.”

Fenris’ lip rose in a self-deprecating smile and he turned to her, shooting one last look at their babies over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes, then moved into the room to stand next to him. Her eyes grew soft as she gazed on the babies in the crib, then she turned to her husband, wonder in her eyes.

“I know,” he just said, reading the maelstrom of emotions in her eyes; after all, they were the same feelings that were making his heart flutter wildly in his own chest. Disbelief, that these tiny little babies were really theirs. Happiness and pride. Fear, that this was just a beautiful dream, and someone would rudely awaken him any minute now.

She nodded, suddenly choked, then laid a supportive hand on his arm.

“It’s real,” she said, in turn effortlessly interpreting the flash of fear hidden in his eyes. “They’re ours. For real.”

Fenris smiled wryly, at how well she could read him, then brought her hand to his lips for a tender, grateful kiss. It was amazingly liberating that she knew him so well, could read him so expertly, as he had found himself without adequate words to express himself time and time again these past few months. It was miraculous that this woman, against whose allure he had struggled for so long, could have learned him so well in such short time, never deterred from his sullen silence and his inability to express his emotions.

Love. What difference it made.

He dragged her behind him, sparing a thought to the other residents of the little cottage. Viana, who had grown increasingly large these past few months, and still resisted Sebastian’s attempts to convince her to give him another chance. But he had caught them the other day, together, a soft look of wonder and love on their faces, as Sebastian felt his babies move with a large hand clasped on her belly. Varric, who had tolerated three wailing babies grasping his chest hair with nary a complaint, and who had started writing a book of fairy tales for his ‘little Hawklings’. Orana, who had blossomed and lost that timid look in her eyes, playing the lute and talking to _Marian_ about the possibility of marrying and maybe even having babies of her own.

Happiness, all round. Firsts. Fragile, precarious, but amazingly precious.

When they finally reached their bed, they exchanged a tender kiss, Hawke’s hand still clasped in his, while he struggled to find ways to express what he felt, to put words to the emotions that were suddenly making him want to weep, choking him up.

But in the end, no words came, other than “thank you”.

 She smiled, sweetly, lovingly, then carded her fingers through his hair.

“You’re welcome,” she just answered, then leaned in for another kiss. “I love you too.”

A wailing cry sounded from the room that was quickly followed by two more squalls. Both parents cringed, while a grumbling voice called out from the other room.

“I got that,” Varric said, his voice still sleepy. “Nappy time. On it.”

Fenris smiled while Hawke pursed her lips not to laugh. “Shall we…?” she whispered, motioning to the door, but Fenris just kicked it shut, then shot his wife a suddenly hungry, predatory look.

“Let him,” he breathed, backing her up till she reached the bed. “He’s on it, you heard him.”

She laughed as he pushed her back to fall on the mattress, reaching out to him, while Varric’s smooth voice could be faintly heard narrating a fairy tale.

But then Fenris started whispering to her, his silky voice soft as honey and hoarse as gravel at the same time, and she forgot everything else.

First times. The first time he had been able to make love to his wife after the birthing of the triplets, her half-heartedly joking –with a small trace of fear and uncertainty in her eyes- that he’d probably wouldn’t be able to feel much, because Maker, she had to be so _wide_ down there now, so ruined. Him, smiling and showing her how much her body still affected him, how it would always affect him, even if they had a hundred children. A whole night spent with him worshiping her changed body, paying homage to every stretch mark, giving them the respect due to scars gained in the fiercest and noblest of battles. Hawke, unravelling in his arms, tears running down her face, whispering her love for him.

Firsts. Passionate, redolent with life and promises of forever.

It was the same for them this night, as they slowly rocked together, joined in body and soul and heart and mind. Staring deep inside each other’s eyes as they moaned quietly in the night, with Varric’s soft voice echoing from the next room, narrating a story about a princess and dragons and intrepid heroes to the rescue.

A timid knock on the door followed, just as their breaths had stopped sawing, and their bodies cooling down, a call for the first feeding of the night;0 Varric smiling indulgently at Hawke’s flushed look as she rushed to feed her babies, throwing a robe over her nakedness.

Varric’s envious look at Fenris’ look of total contentment.

“Lucky son of a bitch.”

Fenris smiled in the darkness.

Him. _Lucky_.

Now, _that_ was a first.

 

 


	24. Revolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have thought long and hard about where I wanted this story to go from here on. Before Inquisition came out, I had decided to make one of Hawke and Fenris' babies into something that suspiously resembled the Inquisitor. I had plans for an elven god returning and I was SO proud of myself for my inspiration. Well, bully for me.  
> So, now that this story is being reposted, I decided that I would continue more or less with my original story, but change a few things. So, for the purpose of this story, the Conclave has happened but failed. It didn't get blown up, so the of events Inquisition -with my own interpretation of them- witll happen years later, after the children grow up.  
> So, this story is venturing into truly AU territory after this point.  
> As many of you that had been following this story before it was deleted from FF know, after a point this story follows Hawke's children more than it does their parents. That will be posted seperately, as part 2, but we're not there yet.  
> So, thank you to all that have read so far. Hang on for the ride, because this baby is going to be LOOOONG.

By the time the babies were nearing their first nameday, a lot had happened.  Varric had gone back to Kirkwalll to take care of his neglected business with the Merchant’s Guild, Sebastian and Viana back to Starkhaven, now married in a ceremony that shocked the Free Marches, not only because the bride of the Prince was a mage, but because Sebastian had announced his plans for a revolutionary new approach to mages. Taking his inspiration from king Alistair of Ferelden he planned to release the Circle, establish schools for young mage children and reduce the authority of the Chantry and the Templar Order.  The Divine in Orlais was furious but Sebastian had stood firm, which had surprised Hawke and Fenris to no end, knowing his devotion to the chantry. Love sure was the greatest force in the world, if the former Choir Boy could change so much.

Hawke and Fenris had even made an appearance at the wedding, as formal guests of the Prince and that had caused such double takes, that they were sure some nobles were left with creaks in their necks. They’d smirked and laughed at each other, having decided that enough was enough with hiding and if anyone wanted them they could come and try to get them. They had the support of the Prince of Starkhaven, Hawke was appointed First Enchanter and would be in charge of the new mage education system. Fenris was appointed Guard Captain of Sebastian and Viana’s personal guard. They were given lavish apartments in the palace complex and three nannies for their children.

The Seekers had come and demanded an audience with Hawke. Fenris had quietly replied that it was not possible, not unless they said _please_. They had both given the audience together, dressed in their most intimidating armor, Fenris resting both his hands on the hilt of his sword, Hawke holding her staff in front of her.  The Seekers had all but demanded Hawke’s help to suppress the mage revolution and she had laughed, saying she’d already helped the templars once and had bitterly regretted it. She had then told them to get out of her sight and leave her and her family alone. One of the Seekers, the same one that had apprehended Varric and tortured him, had the gall to look into Hawke’s narrowed eyes and demand that she accept to help the Divine. The only answer Hawke had given was to draw a curtain, and show the Seeker a crib overfilling with sleeping babies. She had then raised an eyebrow as the other woman’s features had briefly softened at the look of three adorable infants sleeping cuddled together.

“I understand, Champion,” she had sighed. “I guess…your duties lie elsewhere.”

Once they had left, Fenris and Hawke had a lengthy discussion with Sebastian, letting him know of the Divine’s plan. A conclave between the mages and the templars, one that would possibly find a solution for the war that had erupted all over Thedas. The formation of the Inquisition of old, with Hawke-of all people- as the Inquisitor. Sebastian had hummed and agreed that the plan had some merit; still it wasn’t to be. Without someone that both sides could look up to leading the Inquisition the Conclave proved to be a failure, and hostilities between mages and templars erupted again. Some Circles were drowned in blood; other submitted. An uneasy truce formed after a while, where both mages and templars remained deeply distrustful of each other.

But in Starkahaven, the mages thrived. Refuges arrived each day, and soon they had set up the very first Mage School, the Magus University. There had been tensions at first, as the people of Starkhaven –most of them devout Andrastians- were vocal in their opposition of their Prince’s plan. The nobles all but rebelled, but a few swift army maneuvers and the added intimidation of the Champion of Kirkwall at the Prince’s side, were enough to drown any sedition. But more effective than that was the fact that a virulent disease had spread through the streets of Starkhaven; the mages had thrown themselves at the task of saving as many people as possible form certain death. In the wake of that almost fortuitous epidemic, common sentiment abruptly shifted. Suddenly, the mages were heroes that had nearly crippled themselves helping those that had always feared and reviled them. Not wanting to seem ungrateful, the people of Starkhaven decided –as a whole- to give them a chance.

It was more than the mages had hoped for, and they were determined not to let it go to waste. They didn’t even protest the fact that there would be templars in the new school, choosing to show faith in Hawke and Prince Vael, who had both promised them that the templars would be protectors, not jailors, as they were truly meant to be.

A few months before, Viana had given birth to two beautiful baby girls, and Hawke and Fenris had both stood as witnesses at the presentation ceremony, proudly accepting the role of godfathers to the twin princesses. Marian and Mae, heirs to the throne of Starkhaven, had both looked at them with their father’s crystalline blue eyes and smiled, little Marian clutching at the finger of her moved-to-tears namesake. Viana and Marian had exchanged a look over the heads of the new princesses, a secret promise: they would do their best to build a new future here, in Starkhaven, for children like theirs, who might turn out to be mages. They would do their damnest to build a new world, where magic would truly serve man, and where no child would ever fear its Maker given talent.

After the celebrations for the birth of the Starkhaven princess ended, Hawke and Fenris threw themselves into their new duties, the months of living in limbo at the cabin having made both of them itch to do something other than change nappies and sing lullabies. They came back home together early every afternoon and spend all the remaining of the day playing with their children, talking and laughing. Their babies were now sitting up on their own and they had set up a play area in one of the empty rooms, with soft blankets on the floor. They were sitting up, yes, but occasionally one little torso would lose its balance and tumble backwards onto the floor. They had progressed to eating solid food, too, and Hawke was relieved at not having to constantly breast feed them.

They were laughing and cooing and making adorable baby sounds, their little faces identical, their eyes the soulful olive green of their father, their ears human but slightly pointed , their mouths a mix of Fenris’ sensuous curves and Hawke’s poutiness, their hair silky soft and the same sooty black as their mother’s. They were adorable, happy little babies and the light of their parents’ existence. Not to mention that there wasn’t a soul in the palace not willing to babysit for them as they had charmed their way into the hearts of even the gruffest servants. Even the snooty nobles that had looked with disdain on their pairing ( _a mage and an elf, what disgrace!_ )  couldn’t help but fawn over its fruit ( _oh, Maker, what adorable babies, I could just eat them up!_ ).

Fenris was thinking about all that had happened and how much his life had changed, how completely happy and fulfilled he felt with wonder in his eyes. Who could have imagined? If someone had told him years ago when he was trying to make his way to Kirkwall, alone, hungry and hunted at every step, that in that city he would find the woman of his life, the woman who would one day give him his own family and such happiness, he would have laughed until the hunters came and took him back. He looked over to the floor where his babies babbled to each other, in what Hawke called their ‘puppy talk’.  They seemed to understand each other perfectly, though.

A small indulgent smile curled his lips. They were a miracle. So alike and so different at the same time. Felix, the first born, was quick to smile and the natural leader, usually leading his siblings into mischief. He was incredibly bright for his age; sometimes they thought he could understand every word they said the way his eyes moved between them as they spoke. Fox, the second born, was the quiet and somber one, a master at hiding and stealing, a rogue in the making. If Fox wanted something, it disappeared. If he hid something, only he could find it. And his brothers’ oat cookies ad a bad habit of disappearing from their hands as if they had never been there. Fergal, the third born, was still a greedy little pig, already nearly double the size of his siblings, still fiercely protective of them. When he wasn’t bullying them himself, of course. Definitely a warrior in the future, although Fenris planned to teach all his children how to fight, even if they showed magical talent later.

At least with Sebastian’s reform, nobody would ever show up in his home to take his babies away and lead them to a Circle somewhere where he would never see them again. Just the thought of that made him scoff; over his dead body. He was ashamed to remember the conversations he had had with Anders long ago, when he believed that all mages should be locked in the Circle because they were dangerous. He could understand the mage now, not his crazy terrorist act, but his anger, his frustration. What could it have been like, to be torn from your house at such young age, never to see your family again? To be thrown in a cold tower somewhere, being told you were a danger to everyone and had to be locked up for the rest of your life? He shuddered and looked at his babies, playing innocently on the floor. Well not so innocently, Fergal had Fox in a headlock and Felix was scowling and babbling at him, in the same tone Hawke used to when she was pissed and taking your head off.

“Fergal!” he growled menacingly and the little brute let go off his brother- who started bawling- and looked guiltily at his father.

Fenris looked down at his offspring who now attempted to get away with it by flashing a toothy smile, only two adorable baby teeth flashing. He shook his head and picked Fox up, who was rather emphatically raising his chubby arms above his head with tears in his eyes. He sighed as his son hid his head against his neck- the sweet baby smell was the best thing he had ever smelt in his life. He cooed to Fox to sooth him, giving a strict look to Fergal at the same time, who cowed and pouted. Felix raised his arms too, demanding to be picked up as well and Fenris obliged him, holding one baby at each arm.

Felix smiled at his father, babbled something at his brother, touched a hand to his arm as if to comfort him, and shot a dirty look at Fergal. Fenris just started laughing. The child could only have been a more complete carbon image of his mother if he had been a girl. He kissed both their chubby cheeks and let them on the floor again, where they rejoined their brother, all trouble apparently forgotten.

At that moment the door opened and Hawke walked in, a bright smile on her face. She carefully made her way to him, avoiding the crawling babies that were trying to grasp onto her legs and pull themselves up and gave her husband a warm hug and a scorching kiss.

“Hmmm…nice,” he murmured against her lips, drawing her tighter against him, his hands coming to cradle her head as he deepened the kiss.

Three babies screaming in jealous rage. He couldn’t even kiss his wife without the little monsters demanding that he leave their mother alone. Hawke groaned and shot a withering look at her babies, who just started crying even more loudly. Hawke and Fenris exchanged a look of both frustration and amusement. Their babies seemed to be in love with their mother and protested loudly whenever he came near her. Who could blame them really? Luckily they had long ago started sleeping all thought the night, which meant Fenris could make up for their possessiveness at night. And he did, his desire for her seeming only to grow stronger, not sated, every time he had her.

Hawke left his side to kneel down next to her babies, talking softly to them and cuddling them in turn, Felix babbling like he had something really important to say, while Fox listened with a serious look on his face. Fergal pouted and Hawke laughed.

“Yes, I know, tell me all about it,” she told her firstborn and he started babbling even more emphatically, adding waving fists to the description. “What has the little monster done again to upset you, oh fearless leader of babes and puppies?”

“He is probably expressing his displeasure at Fergal,” Fenris smiled, “the little brute had Fox in a headlock again.”

“Fergal, what has mommy said about playing nicely with your brothers?”

Three pairs of olive green eyes looked at her in widening horror, as was the case every time their sweet-spoken mommy raised her voice even slightly to any of them. She just couldn’t resist that look, her heart just crumbled. She was horrible at disciplining them. Thank the Maker for Fenris, whose voice they immediately obeyed, ever since they were in the womb.

She shot a look his way, an impish smile lighting up her face.

“What do you say love, shall we let them in?”

Fenris groaned.

“Are you certain?”

She nodded up and down emphatically. She had had a tough day and needed the release.

“As it pleases you, then,” Fenris shrugged and opened the door leading out to the garden. A chilly gust of air invaded the room along with three mabari pups, her own dog’s offspring, that exploded into the room in a rush of wiggling stubby tails and slobbering tongues. Each puppy attacked a happily squealing baby and soon you couldn’t tell the babies from the puppies rolling on the floor.

Instant chaos. Amazing, wonderful chaos. Shrieking babies and woofing puppies, slobbering tongues and adorable baby giggles. And in the middle of it, his love, his very breath, his wife, laughing so hard tears were rolling down her face.

Maker, but he was blessed!


	25. Talents

 

 

It was funny really. It made people in the court laugh behind their backs. No matter how much it frustrated Hawke and Fenris, Fox was a born rogue. Really it was ridiculous. The boy was only three. A Captain of the Guard and the First Enchanter should be able to find a three year old, but the toddler had them totally perplexed. He had learned how to hide in the shadows just as he had learned to walk, and if he didn’t want to be found then by Andraste’s knickers he wouldn’t.

“Felix, please, find your brother for mommy,” Hawke had to plead to her first born, who was watching them with an amused look on his little smiling face.

“I swear to the Maker, the lad is going to get a spanking one of this days,” Fenris muttered under his breath. His children would make him age before his time. They were extremely bright, stubborn, opinionated and well…like him and Hawke. They seem to attract trouble and had tens of people scrabbling after them. Why couldn’t he have had daughters like Sebastian? The little girls were angels, sweet and well behaved even for two-and-a-half year old children, and never, never had their parents tearing their hair out in frustration.

Felix smiled his lopsided grin and pointed them in the direction of the armory.

“In thele, mommy,” he lisped in his sweet little voice. “He’th playing with the bowth and allowth.”

“Arrows,” they both simultaneously corrected, before rushing in to find their three year old fondling a bow three times bigger than him. He was examining an arrow with a delighted look on his usually frowning face and he was fingering the tip with his chubby finger. A host of dismal thoughts flashed in Hawke’s mind as she took the picture before her. Maker, he was so young; it wouldn’t take much for him to poke an eye out, or injure himself in some other way. She gasped out loud, and in a flash the arrow was back in its quiver and the bow back in its place and Fox looked at them with an angelic look on his face. Fenris and Hawke both blinked, amazed at how fast and coordinated the child was. They exchanged a look of shared panic, relief, frustration and amusement.

“Lessons with Sebastian?” Fenris proposed. “The boy is already on his way to being a rogue, now he wants to be an archer.”

“Let’s see if he has the time, love,” Hawke murmured, picking her son up and cuddling him. “Isn’t he too young?” She shot a look at Fenris, her eyes still wide with panic.

Fenris pushed back his son’s hair and stared deep into the boy’s intense green eyes. “What do you say, son?” he murmured to the middle-born of his brood. “Are you ready?”

Fox nodded, solemnly, then pushed away from his mother’s arms and scampered over to the bows again. He picked one up, held it tight against his chest, then graced him with one of his rare smiles.

“Weady,” he said.

Fenris and Hawke burst out laughing.

* * *

Fenris scratched his head and tried to remember. Where on Thedas had he left his sword? He really had to be getting old if he couldn’t remember misplacing it. Andraste’s grace, he was supposed to escort the Princess and her daughters to a formal function in an hour and he couldn’t find his sword.

He heard snickers from the guards assembled in the court and scowled. The snickers were getting louder, now he could obviously hear some of his men giving heartfelt belly laughs and guffaws of laughter. What on the Void was going on?

He looked outside the window, face palmed himself and started running. He hit the court as his men were clutching at each other, wiping  tears off their faces at the sight of little Fergal dragging Fenris’ huge greatsword behind him, a scowl on his face to rival that of his father at his worst days. The little boy made a heartfelt effort to raise the sword and Fenris snatched it up before he could hurt himself.

Fergal turned at his father, scowled even harder and pointed at the guards who were holding their ribs and their stomachs laughing, some of them visibly trying to reign their mirth now that their commander was here and failing miserably.

“Thtop them Daddy, they are laughing at me,” Fergal was both scowling and near tears.

Fenris did his best to contain his own laughter, but a few chuckles escaped anyhow. He saw the hurt look on his son’s little face and gave his best glare to his guards. They stopped laughing one by one, and did their best to stand at attention. A small chuckle escaped here and there but that was it.

“Apologise to my son for laughing at him, men,” Fenris commanded in a stern voice and Fergal puffed his little chest and stood at attention, his little head with that unruly mop of dark hair held high in pride. That set the guards off again and Fenris took his son in his arms to comfort him as tears sprang to his eyes.

“Don’t worry my little warrior,” he soothed the child sending dirty looks to his men, “one day they will all tremble before you.”

“Pwomithe, Daddy?”

“You are my son, aren’t you? We’ll start training together next week. If you are strong enough to drag my sword out here, you are more than ready.”

Green eyes bright with tears looked at him with love and admiration. One rogue, one warrior. Felix would probably be a mage. The complete set. Marvelous.

* * *

He made a stop at the nursery to check on his sons. Maker, they seemed so innocent and angelic while they slept, nothing like the hellions they really were. He felt his heart swell with pride and love. He might grumble and grouse at their rowdy antics but he was immensely pleased with them. Such bright, talented boys, healthy and strong, happy and well-loved. He run a hand through their wild hair, tucked their bedcovers more securely around their little bodies and gave them each a kiss.

He started unbuckling his armour as he approached their bedchamber, knowing that Hawke was already there, taking a bath probably, or waiting for him naked in bed. Instead he found her by the window, still in her formal robes, deep in thought.

He approached her carefully and slipped his arms around her waist. When she didn’t respond, he knew something was wrong and a cold hand tightened around his heart.

“Marian, what is the matter, love?” he turned her to look at him and was shocked to see tears in her eyes. Had he seen her ever cry all these years? Only that one time when the babies were nearly one and they had all been sick with the measles and she had been beside herself with worry and fatigue.

Hawke hid her face in his shoulder and sighed. The scent and feel of him, so familiar, so soothing, made her feel safe and protected. But she had this fear in her heart that he would blame her when he knew, that the look on his face, so tender and concerned now, would turn to coldness and accusation.

“Felix is a mage,” she whispered. “I found out today. He accidentally set the maid’s dress on fire.”

Fenris scoffed. “Not so accidentally, I am certain. He hates that woman, has so since she called me a filthy knife-ears behind my back and he heard her.”

She raised surprised eyes to his face, looked for anger, didn’t find it anywhere on his expression and punched his shoulder.

“Is that all you have to say?” she instantly fumed. “I have been agonizing all day on how to tell you, and that is all you have to say? Aren’t you angry? Aren’t you mad? Our son is a _mage_!” she punctuated every word with a punch in his shoulder.

“So?” he grabbed her hand to stop her punches, and leaned in with a smile on his lips to kiss her.

She just looked at him, her eyes wide and tears brimming over. He really seemed not to care. He really, really seemed to be fine with it. Fenris, who had once hated all mages with conviction. Fenris whose trust was the hardest thing she had ever won. She knew he loved her, but she had been so afraid of how he would react if any or all of the children turned to be mages. She felt a huge weight lift from her shoulders and realised she had been dreading this moment for three years, ever since their babies were born. She realized she had this hidden fear inside her all this time that he would turn to her with an accusatory stare and blame her for his child being a monster.

“Ah, so that is it…” his eyes sparked with understanding as her ever expressive face revealed her feelings as if they had been written on it. “You thought I would be angry at you. You actually thought I would stop loving my son because he is a mage. Tsk, tsk, tsk...do you really think so little of me, Hawke?”

She had a panicked look on her face now, one he made sure he wiped away with a scorching kiss, nibbling on her lips until she surrendered and allowed him entry. Their tongues tangled together and they both moaned at the instant surge of desire that rose up like a wave to engulf them. He picked her up and carried her over to the bed, threw her on the mattress and started to remove his clothes, slowly and deliberately.

“Let me show you then, exactly what I think of mages...”his voice had dropped to a husky murmur making her skin break in goosebumps and her loins clench painfully. “This mage in particular.”

She removed her own clothes and crawled to him, boldly trailing her fingers down his sinewy torso, over the hard muscles of his abdomen until she reached his groin and took him in her hand. She cupped his testicles with the other and bent to him, the familiar musky flavor of his arousal making her nostrils flare with appreciation.

 She heard him moan as she took him in her mouth, her tongue stroking and licking him in just the way he liked, bold licks down the underside of his shaft, then up again, then around the flared head of his erection. He entwined his fingers in her hair and guided her head as she took him in her hot, hot mouth, a groan and some choice Tevene curses escaping him at her practiced skill.

She fell into a satisfying rhythm, taking him deep, slowly withdrawing, licking the head and then swallowing him deep again.

Among raw groans of encouragement, Fenris started to tremble. After three minutes, he was stiff enough to break. "I am going to come, love." Every strong, sinewy muscle in his body wound tight. "Marian?"

She loved the desperation in the way he said her name. He gave her hair a gentle tug, trying to pull away, desperate to be inside her. She surrendered with a long moan of protest and he guided her back onto the bed, crawling towards her with the feline grace of a big cat.

“On your hands and knees, wife,” he commanded roughly and she obliged him with a moan, her breathing labored, her excitement mounting. “You need to be punished for thinking so low of your husband.”

“Mmm. Punish away. Nice. I love it when you punish me” she wiggled her ass in his direction, inviting him to drag his hands down her hips and ass, between her cleft, down to where she was hot and aching for him.

“Vixen,” he chuckled and slapped her lightly. “No, not that kind of punishment today.”

He positioned himself at her opening and slightly pushed inside, tormenting her with the shallow penetration before he pulled out again and gave a low growl in warning.

“You will only come at my command, Hawke. Is that understood?”

She moaned raggedly as he tormented her by not giving her the deep, brutal thrusts she enjoyed, rather coaxing his way inside her inch by delicious inch until he was fully embedded with a low moan. He started withdrawing just as slowly and she whimpered, clenching her inner muscles in a desperate attempt to keep him inside her. He chuckled, and run a hand down her spine before grasping her hips and forcing her to stay still.

“Is it understood, Hawke?” he withdrew totally and waited for her answer.

“Yes, damn you, yes!” she cried out, “now take me, damn you!”

“With pleasure,” he growled and slammed deep inside her, drawing moan and gasps from both of them. He continued pounding her in a fast, bruising rhythm, until she was mewling his name and her body was trembling violently, suspended at the edge of a violent orgasm, nearly there but not quite, needing just one stroke against that perfect spot inside her to fly into the sun.

And then he stopped. And pulled out. She nearly screamed her frustration at him but he just laughed and stroked her back, bringing her gently down.

“Were you getting ready to come without my permission wife?” he growled into her ear, bending his body over hers, reaching to her front to fondle her breasts.

She was incoherent with need and desire, frustrated out of her mind with being denied her release and the bastard was enjoying it. Hawke shot him a dirty, furious look over her shoulder, a look that promised retribution later.

He chuckled, a smug, self-satisfied smirk on his face, before returning to her and resuming his thrusting, a maddening slow rhythm tormenting them both until she was again at the threshold of her completion.

He stopped again and she screamed and banged her fist on the mattress. She was near tears. Maker, she couldn’t take any more. Her whole body shook, sweat was dripping down her face, her body on fire and every muscle wound incredibly tight.

“Please, Fenris, no more teasing…” she shamelessly begged arching her behind towards him. She was wet down to her knees, her heartbeat pounding between her legs. All she needed was one strong thrust, one stroke against her nub. She mewled and keened and pleaded once more, desperate for her release.

Fenris’ own control was at his limit, but there was nothing he enjoyed more than tormenting both her and himself. He could have done anything he wanted to her when she was at this state and he loved it. His own release was like an impending explosion, tightening his spine and tingling along his nerves, but he didn’t want to end this yet.

With an agonizingly slow pace he sank inside her welcoming, blistering heat again and withdrew until only the head of his erection was inside her. She tightened her fists in the bedcover and hid her head in the pillow, biting it not to scream again in pure frustration. He leaned over her, his body covering hers, and he growled into her ear.

“I would have loved my son even he was the archdemon himself, Hawke.”

He thrust inside her to the hilt and she gasped, her inner muscles tightening, her sheath nearly vibrating at her impending release.

“Now tell me you will never doubt me like this.”

“Never. I promise. Never. Now. _Please_. Please Fenris, now!”

“Come for me,” he commanded in his silky, hoarse baritone, and then slammed deeply inside her, furiously thrusting until she exploded around him, sobbing and screeching, his name a continuous litany on her lips. He felt her wild contractions, her belly tightening, her whole body drawing tight as a bow underneath him and let himself go too, in an orgasm so strong that he blanked out for an instant and collapsed against her.

They turned to their sides, him still inside her and still coming, hot jets of seed coating her insides, while she moaned like a helpless child and continued riding out her release with small explosions that went on forever and stole her breath. It took them both forever to get their breaths back and their bodies to stop shaking and they laid spooned together, slowly returning to sanity.

Hawke turned in his arms and gave him a smile and a kiss before she burrowed into his arms, laying her cheek against the still frantically beating beat of his heart. Sated, immensely satisfied, he opened one eye to look at her as she fiddled in the bedside table drawer for the special potion she took to avoid getting pregnant. It was something they had discussed before and he had been adamant that they could not have any more children until the boys were older.

His voice stopped her as she had the tiny vial halfway to her mouth.

“Don’t take it.”

She looked up to him, surprised and excited. He was reclining with his arm behind his head, his other hand stroking his member that was already half-stiff again. The thought excited him too, it seemed. She raised an eyebrow.

“I think it’s time for a little girl,” he said, a wicked smile curling his lips.

“As long as it’s just one, I’m game.” Damn, but just the idea had her hot and bothered again in seconds.

He took the vial from her hand and threw it out the window.

“Sebastian has two. I’m jealous.”

“This isn’t a contest Fenris, you’d better not give me quadruplets this time!”

“We shall see.”


End file.
